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51 posts in this topic

Rapheal screamed when the slash of human brains rained down on him. He looked to the left of him and he noticed the shattered remains of his partners head. He clenched his eyes shut and began to pray softly and near incoherently as fear caused the words to stumble out of his mouth in wild spurts of half pronounced words. "RAPHEAL, YOU ARE UP," dimly reached his ears and numbly leaned his head out from behind the car where he cowered.

"Si!" was heard coming from his lips, but he was so far removed from his own body he didn't recognize his own voice. As if he were in slow motion he somehow made his way to his feet, firmly grabbed the handle of his bag, and then charged out into the street to make the rescue or die trying. He was unaware of the shooting, screaming, and dying going on around him as the Santiago PD and the Santiago Tigres battled it out for supremacy of the streets. The police gang versus the criminal gangs after all talks broke down between the high ranking officials that made up both groups.

The lowly medical technician, fresh out of his ten week training program, had never expected to be thrown into a gun battled that raged so violently that it would soon make history as the most violent encounter in Santiago's history. Whether he expected it or not, he still did his duty to the best of his ability. A brave young man, a patriot and later called a hero by his fellow officers sprinted out into the holocaust of violence and reached down to grab the bullet shattered body of a young patrol officer. Just as Rapheal leaned back to begin dragging the body out of the street the bag in his free hand was blown out of his grasp.

The shower of medical supplies flew about the place and came to rest in a scattered fashion. Rapheal tripped, fell, and was narrowly missed being blown in two by several bullets that passed through his suddenly vacated space. He turned his body over, grabbed the fallen patrol officer and began to crawl towards the cover of the nearest car as bullets howled around him. As this happened he was unaware of actions that occurred elsewhere in support of his valiant efforts.

Behind cars just a short distance away a pair of officers began to hammer out shots with their pump action shotguns with little expectation of doing much damage. They just hoped their outgoing fire would keep down the heads of the Tigres that were busy blasting away at the young medical technician in the middle of the street. Up above them in an apartment to the patrol officer's rear the glass of the window shattered and a rifle muzzle was soon seen protruding from it. The man at the end of it a civilian had a keen sense of civic duty began to carefully take aimed shots that started putting a certain amount of pressure on the Tigre gunmen. Farther down the street, just around the corner a group of patrol officers began to form a line as they prepared to move onto the street, they were armed with nothing more than their pistols and shotguns. Behind them are a small group of soldiers who were forming up to assist, they are armed with their infantry rifles and a revolver style 40 mm grenade launcher. Farther away groups of police officers were moving to block intersections and taking position on roof tops with Army marksmen who set up their precision rifles.

The Tigre gunmen weren't being passive recipients of violence either. Across the city a dozen smaller gun battles raged as police officers and Tigre gunslingers sought each other out with deadly intentions in their hearts. The Government of Chile was busy ordering the Military to ring the entire city with whatever force could be brought to bear to contain the violence. Luckily, the Tigres were a fairly local organization to Santiago, but Presidente Juagari decided to play it safe and ordered martial law declared in the rest of Chile to ensure that civilians were kept off the streets in the event of violence. None of this mattered to young Rapheal, he had his own concerns that were growing by the minute.

As the two patrol officers and the civilian riflemen had provided enough of a distraction, Rapheal was able to drag the injured officer out of the line of fire. Once the two men were safely ensconced behind a violence savaged automobile, Raphael began to perform medical aid. A civilian trapped by the gunfire watched and took photos of Rapheal as the young medical technician did his best to save a life. The work he was doing kept his so occupied he missed one of the shotgun wielding patrol officers go down as a 7.62 x39 round found him.

The patrol officer, newly married, didn't feel much as his life leaked out of him. His partner screamed and began to fire even faster, which drew even more Tigre fire. It wasn't more than a few of his fallen brother's faltering heart beats later that a well directed burst of fire cut plowed through. The two officers faced each other, one dead and the other soon to be dead as the street battle picked up in intensity without them as the patrolmen around the corner exited their cover to join the fight.

Some would later say it was like lambs to the slaughter, brave lambs, but none the less a slaughter. The eight men did their best to keep low but one by one they were targeted, cut down, and left dying. All of this watched by a frantic Rapheal as he scrambled around behind his precarious cover trying to drag the injured me to safety. His field of vision is limited by his hearing was not, which informed him somebody new had joined the fight.

No sooner than the last of the eight patrolmen get shot to bits, the squad of soldiers decided to ignore their orders to act only defensively, and went on the attack. Twelve armed and trained combat soldiers moved onto the street and laid down a heavy wall of fire on the Tigre positions behind cars and inside two small apartment buildings. The soldiers used their DR300 rifles with deadly affect and were joined by the 40mm grenade launcher and PKM machine gun that began to chug rounds down range at a dizzily rapid pace. None of this mattered a jot or tittle to Rapheal who was busy patching wounded and dying men with whatever he could get his hands on.

Behind his shelter, Rapheal was occupied with the saving of five lives. He used what he could scavenge from his former partner's bag and his own wits. A piece of rope became a tourniquet, a piece of plastic closes a sucking chest wound, a jacket was laid over a fallen man to help with shock, and Rapheal's words of encouragement buoyed the hopes of the injured as he labored. His efforts were matched with a different sort of effort by the Tigres who suddenly found the tables very drastically turned on them.

The Tigres had started the day hoping to force the Santiago Police Department into granting them concessions and ended up just hoping to somehow escape alive. Man after man dropped to the pavement dying as the soldiers advanced one them in good order. The civilian riflemen, one Octavio Javon, dropped a few Tigres with his well aimed shots, all those days of shooting under his father's strict guidance had served him well. Other patrol officers joined the battle from different locations as they moved forward to cut down the last of the Tigres in the very heart of the Tigre stronghold. Here and there another man or two die and then nothing was heard as the shooting stopped and streets grew quiet.

They didn't stay quiet as the screams of bullets were quickly substituted with the screams of the wounded and dying. Other screams would be heard as reporters, politicians, and all sorts of peoples screamed in rage at what would become known as the Santiago Disturbance. Wives of the fallen officers screamed as tears trickled down their eyes, their children screamed when they learned their daddy wasn't coming home, and brothers and sisters screamed that their siblings were dead. Family and friends of the Tigre gunmen screamed their own howls of rage and grief. The fighting had ended the lives of nearly four dozen people and injured nearly two hundred more.

Yet, while the fighting had died away, something more malevolent was born in the hearts of those that survived.it.

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“So, who here would like to explain to me why the Chief of the Santiago Police Department was meeting with known criminals?” Presidente Juaguri asked impatiently.

“Simple, the Santiago PD and the Tigres had a long running agreement in what parts of the city the Tigres could run their prostitution and gambling operations. In turn the Tigres provided the Santiago PD with operational intelligence on drug smuggling, money counterfeiting, human slavery, and a few other choice pieces of information from time to time,” Major General Benard O'Higgins replied as he continued to speak while he used a series of slides to highlight specific pieces of intelligence and the merits of the relationship between the two groups.

“So what exactly caused the Santiago Disturbance,” the Presidente demanded. He heavily wore a tired, yet very angry, expression. The preceding twenty four hours had been one long blur of activity, fear, and finally grief. The Presidente's nephew, a four year veteran of the Santiago Police Department had been badly injured in the shooting, and the doctor who was treating him had not given a glowing endorsement for the boy's future.

“I'm not entirely sure sir, the talks were going well, but something prompted the Tigres to ask for an expansion of their territory. All of the sudden it was a room filled with screaming wild men grabbing for our pistols,” Inspector Montessori stated. He had the misfortune to be one of the few high ranking members of the Santiago Police Department who survived the initial meeting. Further, he has the high regards of the Police and the government for his reputation of being hard working and scrupulously honest in all of his dealings.

“None of this makes any sense what so ever. I want a list of everyone who was at that meeting. I want their full financial information. I want their criminal histories and even their school records all the way back to primary school. I want these records combed, I want their collegues questioned, I want to know what happened at the meeting and why it happened,” Presidente Juagari ordered.

“Sir? Isn't this better left to the investigators?” O'Higgins asked in a voice that phrased the question much like a suggestion.

“Well of course the investigators will handle it. I'm in the middle of a serious government crisis due to this mess. I've got a rising opposition party in Parliament calling for the heads of everyone. Apparently the Army's involvement is being blamed on me. Any comments on this?” Juagari asked O'Higgins.

“Sir, If I may,” Inspector Montessori interjected, “The Santiago Police Department for a very long time depended upon the Mexican military for Special Weapons support. We just aren't properly equipped to handle this sort of problem.”

“It needs to get handled, I want a National Training program to provide such units for all of Chile's major population centers. What is needed to get this accomplished?” Juagari asked.

“Well, technically speaking the Army's CQB Training could fill the gap. By taking trained police officers and putting them through running them through the CQB Training with a focus on law enforcement issues. I could pull a selection of trainers, materials, and we could easily have a respectable course set up and running in a month. It will take longer to refine it and the to properly tweak the units that come out of it though,” O'Higgins noted.

“Good, get me a list of what you need, I'll rubber stamp it via Executive Order. If Parliament has a problem with it, I'll order the Santiago PD's Vice Squad to keep an eye on them. We all know how much some of those randy old bugger's like the ladies,” Juagari commented as he made a few notes on a small pad of paper in front of him.

“Sir, one more thing, what Rapheal and Octavio, the so called heroes of the Santiago Disturbance?” Inspector Montessori asked.

“I'm fairly sure they both meet the traditional definition of being heroes. Rapheal's entire patrol squad was wiped out? Give him an assignment of his choice after a month leave, paid leave, and give him a decent promotion. Octavio? Get his parents to sign his enlistment papers, the kid is perfect for the Army or maybe even one of these new police units. Apparently he can shoot the eyes off a tick,” Juagari quietly responded as he continued to scribble notes on his pad.

“Sir, I'll handle it,” Inspector Montessori replied. He made the offer with the intention of making sure that young Octavio joined the Santiago Police Department. Not only could the boy shoot the eyes of a tick, there was a sudden need for replacement officers due to the recent spate of violence.

“I do believe I can cull a few dozen volunteers from the military police and Rangers to help fill the ranks of these new police units. I'm sure we can work out some sort of long term agreement or outright transfer for those who would like to participate. I can also dive into the Quartermaster's supplies and make sure these units are properly outfitted. That should keep costs down and prevent Parliament from having too much of a heart attack,” O'Higgins offered.

The equipment, the buildings, the land, and the men had been hurled together in the beginning. Thirty days after the meeting that authorized the establishment of the Special Weapons Training Program, the first class had begun training. It was a hectic period of improvisation, tempers ran high, and accidents were common place. Despite all of the accidents and also the equipment failures that plagued the program for the first three months, one might say that the first two classes served as test subjects for fine tuning the training program.

Once the problems were seen, solutions were found. The curriculum underwent two full revisions and the training staff underwent a near seventy five percent turn over. The military trainers just did not have the right mindset to provide law enforcement officers with the proper skills. Over the first three months the right people were fund and hired, new equipment was purchased, and the quality of the training center's classes improved dramatically, which was all good and well as Octavio and Rapheal both began their training in the same class at the four month mark.

Octavio had came to the training directly from the National Police Academy. He was so new to his duties that his clothing and equipment still sparkled as if new out of the box. The contrast between his shiny exterior and eager face was highly noticeable when compared to the older police officers that volunteered for the Special Weapons training. None of it really mattered, he was Octavio, the boy who can shoot the eyes of a tick and one of the heroes of the Santiago Disturbance.

The contrary was very true for Rapheal, he didn't look fresh out of the Police Academy in any shape or form. If anything, he had a weathered look about him that showed a man who had been tested and by some miracle or fluke of statistical probabilities had survived. His uniform had the battered look of a long serving patrolman, which was exactly what he had been doing for the previous three months. After his one month of leave he had requested and been given permission to serve as a patrol officer while doing a weekend induction course for qualified persons seeking to change their specialization.

The two men sized each other up when they met. The legend of their deeds was very well known to each other. Both had seen the interviews on television that the other had done. Before meeting on the first day of their Special Weapons training they had only met once before, at an awards ceremony officiated by the Presidente himself. Neither of the men know that while they are busy sizing each other up, the Presidente was busy sizing them up, from the distance.

“Tell me Montessori, are those two that are sniffing each other like they are in heat the two I think they are?” Presidente Juagari asked.

“Yes Presidente, if my eyes do not deceive me they are the two you think they are,” replied Chief of the Santiago Police Department Montessori.

“Well good, I heard both did well in their respective training courses.”

“Yes, though Rapheal has had some trouble adjusting. The doctors think there might be some issues with post-traumatic stress.”

“Not surprising if you think about it.”
“No, not at all surprising. PTSD among the SPD increased significantly after the Disturbance, it has proved challenging at times to deal with.”

“Keep my office apprised of any mental health issues with your officers, we can divert additional resources to them if needed,” the Presidente said as he made a note in a small notebook.

“Yes Presidente.”

“So, how much longer before we start seeing these new Special Weapons Units really hitting their stride?”

“Few more months sir, we are going to cycle the first two classes back through the training to clear up any gaps. After that we'll be doubling our training capacity. By the end of the year we should have a detachment of Special Weapons Officers in every single major population center. It won't be too much longer that we have them at full strength with a Federal level response and support unit ready as well,” Montessori explained.

“Good, good, and what of the newly proposed SuperCop program?”

“Well, the name is a bit absurd, but I think the idea is sound. Having patrol officers trained and equipped to handle small scale situations will be helpful. Even with fully deployed Special Weapons Units I can see the benefits of having patrol officers trained and armed with heavier weapons. The term I think being bandied about is a trunk rifle.”

“Trunk rifle?”

“Yes Presidente, a carbine designed to be carried in a special rack in the trunk of a patrol car by the SuperCops.”

“I see, calling it a trunk rifle sounds appropriate, but we really do need to find something better than SuperCop, you are right that's an absurd name.”

“Critical Incident Patrol Officers?”

“CIPOS, I guess it doesn't sound too horrible. I'll have the linguistic department at the University take a look at it to make sure we aren't naming them a whale's vagina in some obscure African dialect,” the Presidente said as he made another note to help him remember to follow up on the item written down.

Montessori chuckled and said, “If it is something like that I doubt we'll ever be able to convince them to change it.”

“All the more reason to be sure it's not in advance,” the Presidente responded as he too chuckled.

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“Bernardo, cut to the chase, what has the army managed to accomplish since the Mexicans more or less left us to our own devices,” the Presidente grumbled irritably.

“Sir, we now stand at one hundred thousand regulars, four hundred thousand reservists, and have managed to achieve a uniformity of equipment and calibers.”

“Yes, I know this, but I want to know about these reservists. I saw a mob of them tripping over each other not less than a kilometer from here.”

“Yes, the reservists, well, that's another story. We have two categories of reservists. The active reserves that number two hundred thousand. Of these fifty thousand spend three months of the year on full duty. These two hundred thousand tend to be college students, teachers, and others who have been able to organize their schedules accordingly to allow themselves three months a year. One hundred thousand more are the meat and potatoes of specialists who we can call up at anytime. They serve every other weekend and two full weeks year for more intensive training. They are required to pass a physical test three times a year to keep them in good physical shape. The last two hundred thousand are local reservists who serve in their local units,” Major General Bernardo O'Higgins replied as he carefully explained the current state of the Military of Chile to the Presidente.

“The Navy, The Air Force?”

“The Navy consists of submarines, older models, but incredibly silent. We picked them up for a hilariously cheap price on the open market and have put ten into service. We have a series of patrol boat squadrons deployed and actively patrolling.. It's amazing what you can buy in this world. Air Force, the same, we have a transport plane corp, long range bomber corp, and strike fighter corp.”

“What sort of planes?”

“C-130 and C-5C Galaxy transports. F-15s, F-18s, and A-10 Warthogs for the strike fighters. B-2 bombers, and a few other types of planes. We have roughly six hundred combat aircraft in service and I'm considering a major upgrade of all of them. The Air Force and the Navy are in excellent shape for the time they've all been in service.”

“So what of this a mob of reservists who were looking like they were playing grabass?”

“Local reservists have shown some training issues I'm currently working to address. It's a process sir.”

“Ah, yes, the otttther problem, the conservative officers and their backers aren't being as discrete as they should. It's my guess that roughly twenty seven percent of the military has conservative loyalties. Using a rather interesting program that one of my staff found, we've managed to compare the voting records to that of the current active duty and reserve rosters. It's shown some very fascinating trends.”

“Yes, I saw the report, the conservative officers are starting to consolidate their units. What are you doing about it?”

“I'm letting them.”

“WHAT?”

“Simple sir, it's better to put them right were we can see them all rather than have the rot spread through out the body. Besides, examine the current postings of those units who are deemed untrustworthy and those who can be relied upon to support the duly elected government of Chile.”

“I'm not seeing anything.”

“Look closer sir,” the General says as he uses a finger to show the Presidente what he's trying to explain.

“Oh you are a !@#$%^&.”

“Sir, I'm the !@#$%^& that Chile deserves.”

[b]National Police Special Weapons Training Center[/b]

Rapheal slumped in his chair in exhaustion. The training had been going on for the last month and normally started early in the morning and finished late at night. Day after day of physical conditioning, weapons training, small unit tactics, and classroom work. It isn't enough for the men of the Special Weapons to be able to place their shots on a 3 x 5 inch index card time after time with flash bangs going on all around them. Be able to think was emphasized as well, which explained the long classes that studied a variety of incidents that involved hostages, suicide threats, and other incidents that Special Weapons Units tend to face.

Without the time to think, Rapheal had not been able to slump into the darkness that had trailed after him since the Santiago Disturbance. Most of the time he wasn't at all bothered by not having time to dwell in the darker corners of his mind. Being a deeply thoughtful person who was prone to introspection and seeking the refuge of his thoughts also made him subject to over-examining the horrible events of those dark events that had launched him into the ranks of the Special Weapons Training center.

“Rapheal,” Octavio said as he shook Rapheal's shoulder.

“Si, mi amigo,” Rapheal stammered as he snapped his way out of his thoughts.

“You with us,” Octavio asked as he flipped the pages to his textbook.

“Mostly,” Rapheal replied as he refocused his attention back to the study group he was with. The men had rapidly formed into study groups to help each other keep up with the piles of documents they were required to study and more importantly, required to understand.

“Well, try not to drift off, let's examine the Iranian Embassy Crisis of London,” Octavio suggested. He had grown used to the quiet deeply intense ways of Rapheal. Normally the fact that there was at least one amongst their group that took the time to mull over the various nuances of the material helped them all greatly. Occasionally though, Rapheal took on a look that brought a bubble of worry to the stomachs of even the most harden individual.

“Yes, the Special Air Service, they cleaned that up rather neatly,” Rapheal replied as they began to discuss and debate the various merits and flaws of what is considered a textbook incident for hostage rescue.
Edited January 12, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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Some bars try to be seedy, the Dropzone defined it. Years of grime worn into the walls, the furniture obviously repaired on more than one occasion, and the signatures of hundreds, if not thousands, of soldiers from the nearby military camps littered the walls. The Dropzone existed back before the HAE, survived the break up of the HAE with only moderate damage that possibly added to the decor, and was happily shambling along when Octavio and his training class stumbled through the door for a night of hard drinking and other adult revelries.

“Gentlemen, you will place your hands upon your pints when duly authorized to do so,” the gnarled bartender shouted as the line of Special Weapons trainees waited at attention in front of the bar.

“When I give the order you commence the drinking of the beverage in your pint and you will not stop until the receptacle is fully drained. DO YOUR Oh no I didn't! understand me?” the bartender asked with a shout that made the floorboards tremble.

“SIR WE UNDERSTAND SIR!” the recruits shouted back.

“Once you've drained the beverage in your pints, you will return the pint to the bar with enthusiam. DO YOU PANSIES UNDERTAND ME?”

“SIR WE UNDERSTAND YOU SIR!”

“Good, you will now place your right hand upon the pint in front of you. Give me the approved Dropzone cheer once this is complete.”

“DROPZONE DROPZONE DROPZONE SIR!”

“You collective lot of pansies and maggots will now place the pint to your lips and you will commence drinking. Upon draining the beverage in your pints you will return the pint to the bar with enthusiasm. COMMENCE,” the bartender rumbled as he watched the trainees complete their appointed task and didn't even wince as they slammed their glass pints down on the bar with such force they shattered them. Once the lot of them finished draining their pint of beer, rum, sloe gin, and dish water, the bartender then said, “Gentlemen, you are now full members of the Honorable Society of the Dropzone. You may sign the walls at your leisure. Next round is on the house!”

With this sorted out the men began to drink in earnest. Octavio reached out to claim a marker and he found the bartender's hand clamp down on his. “Sir?” Octavio asked with a confused look on his face.

“Vets have a special place to sign,” the bartender replied.

“I'm not even in the army sir.”

“You that kid who shot it out with the Tigres in the Santiago Disturbances?” the bartender asked as he used a small broom to sweep up the copious quantity of shattered glass that littered the bar.

“Yeah.”

“Then you are a vet and you get a special place to sign.”
“Oh, ok, well what about my friend?”

“What friend?”

“That guy over there, Rapheal, he was actually out on the street dodging around and trying to save people,” Octavio said as he pointed to Rapheal. The motion was not missed by Rapheal who wandered over and joined the conversation after he steered his way through a crowd of his fellow trainees, soldiers, bar maids, and women that he suspected are prostitutes. “Rapheal, the bartender says we have a special place to sign.”

“Wait, you the kid in all those pictures?” the bartender asked as he rummaged around under the bar and pulled out a magazine. He flicked his way to the right page and compared Rapheal to the picture in the magazine.

“Yeah, that's me,” Rapheal said quietly.

“Hell's bells boy, you saved lives that day. The founder of the Dropzone was a combat medic in the HAE Marines. Too bad he keeled over two years ago, he would have loved meeting you,” the bartender said as he poured two more pints, this time with just beer, and pushed them over the bar to Rapheal and Octavio.

“I would have loved to meet him sir.”

“Don't call me sir, I'm just another civilian these days,” the bartender replied.

“I hear the reserves are looking for experienced veterans, you should join up,” Octavio replied before taking a deep swig of the beer.

“Might just, I did do more than a few years as a mortar maggot. Might be able to show a thing or two to the local reservists who put a mortar round so far off the grid they didn't even register its fall. I mean really, how do you not spot a mortar round detonation?”

“Damned if I know sir,” Rapheal responded. He then turned to Octavio and said, “I'm going to drink up, sign the bar wall, and head back to barracks.”

“What, so early?”

“I want to study some more.”

“Your choice mi amigo, I wish you'd stay out with us for a bit. You could use some unwinding,” Octavio replied.

“Son, advice from an old hand, you need to get your fun in while you can,” the bartender suggested.

“No, I do have a fair bit of work to do.”

“Officer type I see,” the bartender chuckled.

“Not if I can help it.”
“That's what they all say,” the bartender replied with a laugh. “Before you go, give me a minute of your time. I want to show you something.”

“Ok,” Rapheal replied as he drained his beer. He then found the right place to sign the wall, signed it, and followed the bartender to the rear of the bar.

“Look kid, I don't show this to everyone, but I think you might appreciate it,” the bartender.

“Sure, let's take a look,” Rapheal said as he elbowed Octavio off to the side to get a better look. Octavio who had followed the two back to satisfy his own curiousity sensed this was a time to keep his silence. He still had his worries about Rapheal's darker moments and painful looking times of reflection that seemed to be a heavy burden for Rapheal in a way that Octavio just couldn't come to understand. Their personalities being polar opposite put Rapheal at the far end of being an introvert and Octavio at a highly extroverted person who didn't spend too much time sitting around thinking.

“Right, my mate who founded this dump was a combat medic. Take a look at this,” the bartender said as he pulled a picture off the wall showing a much younger bartender and the bartender's combat medic friend in uniform.

“How old were you?” Rapheal asked.

“Not much older than you two, were fresh out of training. Sad though, he was a big thinker, he spent hours in the back minding the books, not talking much to anyone.”

“Why is that sad?” Rapheal asked.

“It killed him, he stuck pistol in his mouth and blew his brains all over the office wall. My point to you son, you've seen the elephant, you carry a burden, it's clear to me as day. Take some time to relax, open up a bit to your friend here, don't let it eat you alive,” the bartender said as he reached out and grabbed Rapheal's arm.

“Sir?” Rapheal asked a bit surprised.

“Tonight you aren't going back to barracks. OH hell no. Tonight, you are getting drunk. We then going to the raunchiest brothel in this hick town. We are then going to get laid. You and your friend are then going to find us a navy bar and get in the biggest fight ever. Once you two have done all that, you are going to wobble your way home with song in eye,” the bartender ordered them both.

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“Do you mean to tell me I have a meeting with a woman who believes she can do magic?” the Presidente asked.

“Yes sir.”

“Magic?”

“Yes sir.”

“Not to sound redundant, but seriously?”

“Madame Charvelle went on film last year and performed a feat that can only be explained as magical sir, you had to have seen it,” Chief of Staff Montessori replied. Thus far his rise to power had been entertaining, but days like this made him wish he had stayed a simple Inspector on the Santiago Police Department. However, when the Presidente had offered him the job as Chief of Staff, he didn't refuse the offer, though at times he questioned his sanity for accepting it.

“Isn't she the one who cut herself in half on stage? How is that magical? I did the same trick in Primary School in a talent show.”

“Sir, did you use a large box and a sword?”

“Yes.”

“She used a wood chipper and coated the audience in blood. Her screams made people faint or worst. A member of the Santiago PD rushed the stage and pulled aside the blind to find Madame Charvelle untouched, nude, and coated with gore.”

“Well, I suppose one could think that is magical. Really, a wood chipper?”

“Sir, if you'd allow me,” Montessori said as he handed over a tablet. The powerful little computer had an open browser with the video from the incident ready to play. Bobtube was at times quite useful, despite the slew of moronic comments that seemed to get deposited there by North American idiots who could barely string a sentence together. The Presidente pushed the play button and after a few moments of watching gore spray the audience he turned it off.

“Yes, I can't believe they allowed that to be aired on national television,” The Presidente grumbled as he prepared himself for meeting Madame Charvelle. “So what does she want with me?”

“Social Progress sir.”

“Uhh?”

“She is a highly respected social reformer as well. She recently went on record opposing your administration saying that you don't put enough money towards social spending sir,” Montessori explained as he contained the ripple of laughter that was boiling up inside of him. He's fully aware of the Presidente's recent push in Parliament to increase spending for schools, healthcare, and other vital social spending programs. The conservative opposition to these expenditures were not well received by the Presidente who raged at the idea that education, healthcare, and proper government services to the people of his nation were being called entitlements. The Madame Charvelle's accusations were likely to elicit quite a strong reaction from the Presidente, and one of the perks of Montessori's job was watching the man explode. Though he was careful to never let on that he often enjoyed the rants immensely, there was something about watching a man swear in four languages and furniture being hurled out the window that was so invigorating.

“Well,” the Presidente commented as he tapped the end of his pencil on the top of his desk.

“Sir?”

“Can I have her shot?”

“No sir.”

“Hung?”

“No.”

“Can I throw her out the window?”

“No sir.”

“Maybe just a little off the side with a dull knife?”

“No sir.”

“Get me a whiskey, this is going to be a long day,” The Presidente somewhat wisely stated as if he had the uncanny magical gift to read the future.

[b]20 minutes later..[/b]

“Madam Charvelle, I'm delighted to have this meeting with you today,” The Presidente replied as he enjoyed the strong numbness of the three large whiskeys he just drank. He motioned Madam Charvelle to a chair and waited for the graceful and quite stunning looking young woman to take a seat.

“Thank you for allowing me this visit Presidente Juagari,” Madam Charvelle replied as she noticed the Presidente had a certain distinguished air about him. A well cut suit, properly cut hair, neatly trimmed mustache, and very proper manners gave the Presidente the appearance of either a distinguished statesman or a well heeled executive businessman.

“I understand you wish to speak about social issues today?”

“Yes Presidente, I have a few documents for you to examine,” Madam Charvelle replied.

“Very well,” Presidente Juagari said as he reached for the documents and then examined them carefully before asking, “Just what am I looking at specifically?”

“These are memos from the Chilean Conservative Party. They clearly show a history of collaboration between themselves and senior members of your own party.”

“My party and the Conservatives do have to work with each other on occasion, it's politics, what of it?”

“Do you expect me to believe that your recent bid to increase social spending isn't anything more than a sham? Further, Mr. Presidente, do you expect me to believe that the people of Chile won't see through the ruse?” Madame Charvelle asked as she reinforced the point by pounding the heel of her hand on the arm of the chair she was sitting in.

“Madame Charvelle, you are a performer or some sort?”

“Yes, I do dabble in the performance arts.”

“Madame Charvelle, with all due respect, I suggest you stick with something you are good at.”

“SIR?” Madame Charvelle snapped in surprise at the Presidente's bold response. She was not often used to being addressed so directly. Her charitable work brought her nothing more than fawning adulation and honey tinted words from her adoring fans, not rebuke.

“Madame Charvelle, you come into my office, you make accusations, you make threats of a veiled nature. Do not expect me to sit quietly. I am the Presidente of Chile, I have real work of a pressing nature that needs to be seen to. If you are quite finished wasting my time, you can show yourself to the door, unless you have something of value,” the Presidente rumbled as the look his staff knew all too well that one of his tempers was soon to be arriving.

“Oh... my... god,” Madame Charvelle replied as she started sobbing at the bluntness of the Presidente.

The Presidente looked somewhat shocked as he wasn't all that accustomed to women sobbing in his office. He's seen a few tears from his wife, plenty from his daughter, but never from a stranger at his place of work. “Ahh, Madame Charvelle, perhaps I spoke to roughly, here, take a handkerchief,” the Presidente said softly as he offered her the handkerchief.

“Madame, I assure you, I'm profusely sorry for upsetting you,” Presidente Juaguri said as he felt a measure of desperation rising up inside of him. In the privacy of his mind he quickly began to consider the best options for getting the wailing and sobbing Madame Charvelle out of his office. Preferably, not via the window, which he had just envisioned her sailing out of.

“Good,” she replied as the tearful woman disappeared and the hard jaded performer returned. “You might be the Presidente of Chile, but I am Madame Charvelle, I AM the people of Chile.”

“What the f...” snorted the Presidente somewhat ungentlemanly.

“I assure you, I want answers, you will give them to me,” snapped Madame Charvelle.

“Oh Montessori, might you open the window for me?” the Presidente asked as he looked over at the stunned looking Montessori.

“Sir, NO,” Montessori replied as he refused to move.

“I'll open it for you,” Madame Charvelle offered as she stood, walked over to the window, and opened it. She then turned and said, “I will prove my powers to you sir,” as she stepped out the window and gracefully plummeted to the earth and broke both of her legs.

“Well, that was somewhat unexpected,” Montessori said as he and the Presidente watched the Paramedics load Madame Charvelle into the ambulance.

“Do tell me you got this all on video?”

“Yes sir.”

“Oh thank god.”
Edited January 15, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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“Operation Panzerkubelwagonflutengraupenwagnerbachbliztkrieg will return us to power! The Silver Revolution will once again regain its rightful place in the world,” Herr Spitnz exclaimed as he pounded the podium he stood behind as he faced the assembled ranks of the Kaiser Martens Liberation Army.

“Herr Spitnz, one question if I may?” Grabassnia, the KMLA geneticist who created the clever plan to return the Silver revolution to the world.

“Yes Grabassnia?”

“Do you really think the Kaiser Barkens are ready for deployment?” the geneticist asked skeptically as she remembered the recent attempt to get the werewolves she had created to do anything more than hump the nearest tree. The exercise had started out with such great promise, but had ended in total tree humping failure.

“You assured me the Barkens would be ready for battle at the end of the month, did you not assure me of this Doctor Grabassnia?”

“I promise you this every month, and every month the Kaiser Barkens shift forms and start sexually assaulting old growth oak trees. I might add, the locals are starting to ask questions about why the oak trees in the forest reserves are all showing odd stains and claw marks,” Grabassnia pointed out as she called up a slide that illustrated some of the arboreal damage being wrought by her genetically altered subjects.

“Perhaps if you had went ahead with the Alsatian strain for the Kaiser Barkens rather than the Daschund we would have avoided all this tree humping?” Herr Spitnz suggested as he looked irritable that his plan was once again going to be put on hold. Every month for the last year he had prepared to launch the bid to bring the glory of Kaiser Martens and the Silver revolution to the world. Yet, each and every month for the last year, Grabassnia had some sort of bad news.

Herr Spitnz looked a bit appalled and merely sighed as he couldn't come up with a decent reply. To avoid getting angry he immediately launched into a four hour lecture on the merits of Kaiser Martens, the glory that Kaiser Martens brought to the world, and the all the things that the world stood to benefit from Operation Panzerkubelwagonflutengraupenwagnerbachbliztkrieg. To date, the speech had been his best effort, only half of the audience fell asleep, not bad for a reformed alcoholic language school teacher turned revolutionary.

[b]Santiago[/b]

“So you are saying that the trees in the Chilean Andean Forest Reserves are showing an unusual amount of damage from bears?” Presidente Juagari asked.

“Yes sir.”

“Why are you telling me this? Don't you know I have more important crap to do with my day? Isn't this a matter for the Forestry Department?”

“Well sir, I normally would deliver this report to the head of the Forestry Department if the problem was a bear or bears, but if you'd examine these photographs, you'll see that it is quite the opposite of bears,” Doctor Jose Mantelan replied as he slid a large photo of a weredaschunds across the table to the Presidente.

“My god, that's the biggest dachshund I've ever seen. Kind of adorable isn't it?" the Presidente asked as he looked a bit closer. After a few seconds of strained squinting he finally asked, "It looks to me as if the dachshund is attempting sexual congress with an oak tree, is it?”

“Yes sir.”

“Montessori!”

“Yes sir?” Montessori asked.

“Get me the whiskey, this is going to be another long day.”

[b]National Police Special Weapons Training Center[/b]

“Gentleman, I'm proud to report that your training is complete, you are all certified as Special Weapons Unit Members. You've all been assigned to the Federal Special Weapons Rapid Response Team that will be based out of Santiago. Your commander, Captain Carlos De Juanito, you all know and have had the pleasure of training with for the last two months. I turn the stage over to him, good luck to all of you,” Chief of Staff Montessori said after he finished handing out the last of the newly made SWUT badges.

“Gentlemen! We will do great things for Chile! We already have our first mission! We will go to the hills of the Chilean Andes National Forest and assist the Forest Department with an unspecified problem of an unspecified sort,” Captain Carlos De Juanito said as the men laughed at his quip.

“Sir?” Rapheal asked.

“Yes?”

“Do we have any information? We'll need it to decide what sort of equipment to take along. Will this be close quarters or open field?”

“I do not know, but we will be assisted by a platoon of Army Rangers and a team of Special Forces, who we will be training with while we wait for information from the Forestry Department. The Special Forces boys will show us the various ins and outs of how to insert rapidly from a helicopter, which might come in handy.”

“Sir, I will take the task of organizing the bulk of our equipment and get the men issued proper uniforms for working in the field,” Rapheal responded.

“Excellent, your friend Octavio can help you.”

Octavio groaned.
Edited January 16, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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Presidente Juagari signed the document in front of him authorizing the expenditures to create a highly classified program known to only a select few as Watchtower. The organization that will be created under the umbrella of Watchtower will be responsible for the collection and analyst of information that could indicate a threat towards Chile. Watchtower was issued such a dark classification level that the creation of a false division of the Forestry Department was required just to pay the men and women who would come to fill the ranks of the organization.

The Watchtower program was created in the public eye as a minor division within the Forestry responsible for the upkeep of the National Forestry Department Fire Watchtowers that can be found in remote parts of the Chilean Andes. The Watchtowers no longer fill the role they once served given satellite technology can be used to detect a fire in remote locations much quicker than a human who may or may not be asleep at the wheel so to speak. Despite the lack of a need for the forestry watchtowers, the Presidente quietly authorized the funding of the new Division and the covert funding for the underlying intelligence collection and analyst program.

The way in which the program was designed to work was quite difficult for the Presidente to understand, but Montessori assured him that it should work. Further, given the Chilean distrust of Secret Service type organizations due to Pinochet, it was Montessori's advice they keep the entire thing quiet to not upset the general population. Even if the Presidente didn't quite fathom the fine details of Watchtower, he academically understood the need for timely warning of a possible attack.

This was not the only document the Presidente signed, he also signed into effect a massive funding increase for government services, military improvements, and pay raises for government employees. This was accompanied by the creation of a superfund to be used to pay for ongoing infrastructure development projects that for the time being include the improvement of roads, airports, port facilities, schools, hospitals, water treatment plants, and sewer facilities. The increase of funds was found possible due to the finalization of the Chilean Tax Revenue Office and the recent flood of foreign investment, though there are rumors that the Arica Banana Plantation monies were going to be refunded to the investors with a profuse apology included.

“Montessori, tell me how this Watchtower will collect information?” the Presidente asked.

“It will use listening posts at the border, radar reports, reports from our embassy officials, satellites, newspaper articles, and so forth. It's not expected to give a full picture into the heart of the enemy encampments, but it should suffice for giving advanced warning of an impending problem.”

“Very well, it is expensive though, but I hope it will prove worthwhile to the people. See to it that it is properly supervised. Now tell me of this problem in the Andes with these Oak trees and Dachshunds?” the Presidente asked.

“Nothing so far sir, it seemed they vanished as soon as the sun came up the last time they were seen, very odd, very difficult to explain,” Montessori replied.

“So the Federales are still running around the Andes?” the Presidente asked as he used the nickname for the National Police Special Weapons Unit.

“Yes sir, but they are getting some excellent training in with the Rangers and the Special Forces.”
“What kind?”

“Something about resisting interrogation is what they are currently working on at the moment.”

“Well, that ought to keep them out of trouble.”

[b]Chilean Andes[/b]

“If you lie to me, I have to hurt you. Now tell me your name,” the Special Forces operative ordered Rapheal.

“Your madre was soooo very fine last night,” Rapheal screamed back at his tormenter.

“Very well, you are making me do this, I regret this, but alas!” the Specfor operative said as he turned the current on and gave Rapheal a powerful shock.

“ARRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHH YOU @#$@#$# SON OF A !@#$!@#$!@# I'M GOING TO !#$@#$# YOUR SISTER WITH A !@#$!@#$!@#$@#$!@#$!@#$!@#$@ and then I WILL #%$%$T#$%@#$!@$@#$@!#$!!!!!” screamed Rapheal as he lunged at the Specfor Operative who had him securely fastened to a stout wooden chair.

“When you lie to me, I will hurt you. Tell me your name,” the Specfor Operative ordered with a bored look on his face. It was beyond him why these Special Weapons boys were so diehard about this training. Not one single one of them yet has not threatened to defile everyone in his family and his dog in some profanely disgusting manner. Most people just put on a good enough show to pass the test and then gave up to avoid getting their short and curlies electrocuted repeatedly.
Edited January 17, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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As young Rapheal was detained in the Special Forces encampment, the rest of the Special Weapons Unit members were busy milling about in their own small rough and ready forest base. The tents the men had been living in had the look that they had all seen better days. None the less, they were serviceable and did the job expected of them, which was to provide shelter for those within. The rest of the Federales camp was a thrown together assortment of General Purpose Medium tents and a few large trailers that had been converted into structures. The paths between the tents and buildings were swept clean and lined with rocks that had a uniform coat of white paint. Several garbage cans were positioned to keep trash from being thrown on the ground. A single fence stood between the forest and the camp that was mostly designed to keep out large curious animals.

The only animals on the minds of the Federales were the Special Forces trainers who seemed to be taking their time with one of their team mates, specifically Rapheal. The Federales had all resisted to the best of their abilities, but eventually just gave up realizing that it was training and not real life. They quietly were asking each other why it was taking so long for Rapheal to be released from the Special Forces camp, without knowing it was Rapheal being incredibly stubborn. The training itself wasn't even training that mattered to their specialization, which made their confusion as to Rapheal's whereabouts all the more deep. The idea of undergoing enhanced interrogation resistance training had been thrown in at the last moment on a whim by Captain Carlos De Juanito, a fact that had not exactly endeared the men to their leader.

Not many of the Federales felt a good time involved getting slapped around and electrocuted, which had left them thinking their Captain was a bit of a dimwit or a sadist, perhaps even both. There had been other occurrances that made the men question their commander, but nothing so dramatic as this one. Octavio who had been getting more and more concerned took it upon himself to bring the problem to the Captain to see how he would respond and said, “Sir, Rapheal is still not back.”

“Yes, he does seem to have been up at the training center for quite sometime. How long by your count? I have him down for about 2 hours 13 minutes so far,” replied the Captain as he checked his watch.

Octavio looked a bit surprised and felt encouraged that the Captain had the presence of mind to at least know how long Rapheal had been in the clutches of the Special Forces trainers. “Sir, don't you think we should go fetch him back?”

“Well, you just caught me on the way out. I was going to walk over and ask what the hold up was myself, come along with me,” the Captain replied. The two men made their way to the front gate of the small Special Forces training center and asked the guard to allow them to pay a visit to the Special Forces Commander. A request that was flatly denied with them being told that Rapheal was going to undergo a special session due to his intransigence.

“What do you mean special?” Captain De Juanito asked.

“Water boarding most likely,” the guard replied.

Captain De Juanito looked the guard firmly in the eye and said, “Open the gate now, this training session is over.”

“You mean to tell me the hero of the Santiago Disturbances can't take a little rough play?” the guard asked with a mocking voice.

“Soldier, step aside,” Captain De Juanito ordered as he pushed forward only to find himself staring down the muzzle of a 7.62 x39 DR200 rifle.

“Back off Federale, you might be the big dog in your camp, but this is Special Forces territory. No one comes in here without the Colonel's permission.”

“I'll be back shortly,” Captain De Juanito replied as he turned and forced a seething Octavio to come along with him.

“Sir, they came like you said,” the guard quietly whispered into his radio once the two Federales were out of ear shot.

“Good, keep your eyes open, this is going to get interesting,” the Colonel said as he pushed another piece of roasted beef onto Rapheal's plate. “Eat up young man, that was one hell of a feat you accomplished, no one has ever broken my record, I'm damn impressed.”

“Thank you sir,” Rapheal replied as he ate heartily.

[b]Presidente's Office[/b]

The Presidente examined the reports of the growing crisis with the Conservatives and sighed. It would seem that avoiding violence was going to be a far more difficult thing that he expected. At least the money for the Arica Banana Plantation had been found and refunded, hopefully that will keep confidence with foreign investors at a high level. But, all the covert whispers in the shadows between politicians and military officers had the Presidente worried.

“Major General, give me the short version of your report,” the Presidente asked.

“Sir, the Conservative Politicians and the Conservative officers are getting more and more blatant about their collaboration. As you know there is an act of Parliament demanding the renaming of several units that are mostly Conservatives to unit designators popular with the old Pinochet era,” a tired looking Major General Bernardo O'Higgins explained. The deeply lined features of his face showed a rugged outdoorsman who had spent years in the sun and rain doing whatever that outdoorsmen tend to be found doing.

“Well, what of the military improvements?”

“New equipment is being placed with loyal units first, I did managed to see to that. I'm keeping stockpiles under armed guard for now, guards loyal to the government.”

“Watchtower, how does it fare?” asked the Presidente as he poured himself another whiskey.

“It'll take a great deal more time than we've had to get much out of Watchtower, but the early signs are promising. We'll soon be making listening posts at the borders with special balloons designed to give much better radar protection against low flying planes. The human part of the puzzle has yet to get anywhere of yet, but with time we'll be ready to move on that end.”
“Good, keep me advised.”

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Captain De Juanito and Octavio walked back to the Special Weapons Camp with anger in their eyes and silence following them like a bad smell. Neither had anything to say as they were busy sorting through their thoughts as they made the short journey. Octavio was filled his head with fears for Rapheal and visions of water-boardings gone bad. Captain De Juanito was thinking about something entirely different, a helicopter assault.

As soon as they arrived at the Camp the Captain called together a small group of his officers and non-commissioned officers. With them in front of him, he put forward a list of problems that needed to be quickly resolved to effect the release of Rapheal in a timely manner. The primary problem being that Rapheal was inside a Chilean Army facility, which was part of the same government that the Special Weapons Unit worked for. It was quickly decided that as the interrogation was clearly an exercise gone bad, the rescue would be planned and conducted as an exercise gone bad as well. Once this was decided the Ranger pilots were sent for and briefed.

The four pilots looked back and forth at each other for a long silent minute as they looked over the map before they in turn sent for their commanding officer. He took one look at the map, then he looked at the pilots, and then he looked at the Special Weapons members before pointing out the best way in was a controlled explosion at the perimeter. The Ranger Officer then turned around and sent for his best demolitions man and showed him the map and explained the problem to him.

He nodded and said, “One pound of plastique, maybe two?”

“A pound of high explosives for a fence? Are you insane?” the Ranger Captain asked.

The Ranger Captain rolled his eyes before looking over at Captain De Juanito and saying, “We can breech the fence, but you folks are more set up to getting into camp and doing close quarters hostage rescues. You put any thought into how to deal with the Parachute Battalion down the road away?”

Captain De Juanito scratched his chin and examined the problem. The Special Forces Team could easily call for reinforcements from the Paratroopers and if his own men weren't able to clear the compound quickly enough, they'd be caught by the Paratroopers still inside the wire. “No, not really, any suggestions?”

“Put a team on the road, drop a few trees across it, snipe some drivers, lay a few mines, light infantry sort of situation as far as I can tell,” the Ranger Captain replied.

“I can put one of my platoons on it, it will leave us short handed though.”

“Just ask.”

“Will you cover the road for us?” Captain De Juanito asked the Ranger Captain.

“Of course, let me send a runner to put my company on alert, we'll move out shortly. You do know we have a Marine Sniper Unit billeting next to us, right?”

“No.”

“Let me send a runner,” the Ranger Captain said as he ordered his demolitions man to go fetch the Marine Sniper Team Leader. As they waited the Ranger gave advice to Captain De Juanito on how to best go about the problem of moving through the mountains to breech the wire with a simultaneous air assault on a different part of the compound. Once the Marine ghosted into the room and volunteered his services with providing long range precision rifle fire the men gathered around and carefully began to finalize the plan.

“We need one person controlling the entire mess, someone who can run the radios,” the Marine suggested.

“I can put a man on it, he's pretty fast on his feet. In fact, if I put him with you he will be able to see the entire camp and a decent bit of the road,” De Juanito offered to the Marine.

“I do have an excellent position for looking down into the camp and past it,” the Marine Sniper replied.

“Good, I'll tell Octavio what he needs to do.”

“The Santiago Disturbance shooter?” the Marine asked with a single raised eyebrow.

“Yes, one and the same.”

“Gleaming, this will be fun.”

[b]Special Forces Camp[/b]

“Rapheal, I can tell you that what you are feeling isn't every truly going to go away. Post-Traumatic Stress can cripple a man if he doesn't get good treatment for it. Us military men know all about it, our doctors have experience with it. I'm going to give you the name of a doctor the Special Forces uses in Santiago, he's an old HAE vet and knows his business,” the Special Forces Colonel elaborated as the two men enjoyed glasses of brandy.

“Thank you sir, your hospitality has been most gracious, if not somewhat surprising,” replied Rapheal.

“Oh don't you worry, the rest of your friends will get the same once the blow up the front gate or whatever they are planning. We have an entire pig being roasted for them out behind the camp. They'll come running in here and find it mostly evacuated, but the training will be good for them. The Jarhead helping them already gave me the heads up along with the Rangers. Your Captain doesn't know it, but he's building a reputation for himself as an indecisive leader, I shouldn't really be discussing this with you, so you'll keep this quiet?”

“Yes sir, of course.”

“I've been training men to be soldiers or whatnot for nearly three decades. First for the Holy American Empire, then under the Mexicans, and now our own government. I can see an Officer going bad a mile away and there is only one thing you can do about it, give him a chance to shine. From what I'm seeing your Captain De Juanito might be a bit inexperienced, but he's currently planning to blow a hole in my gate the size of a boat and he will personally go over the side of a chopper to protect one of his men. This is a good thing, not so much for my fence, but for you federales and your Captain,” the Colonel replied as he refilled Rapheal's glass.

“Did anyone ever do the same for you?”

“Of course, you ever hear of a real craphole called Diberia? Let me tell you about zombies, you'll love this story.”

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[color="#cc4444"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1][color="#44aa44"][b]Juagari[/b][/color] dials the listed number for for [color="#668866"]deArdanza[/color]'s office that was provided by the Chilean Foreign Minister and hopes he doesn't end up connecting with the Bogata Department of Sanitation.[/size][/size][/font][/color]

[color="#cc4444"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1][color="#668866"]deArdanza[/color] 's secretary would receive the phone call, and ask for an identification of the caller.[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#cc4444"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1][color="#44aa44"][b]Juagari[/b][/color] replies, "I am President [color="#44aa44"][b]Juagari[/b][/color] of Chile, I wonder if I might trouble your President for a moment of his time?"[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#cc4444"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1][color="#668866"]deArdanza[/color] 's secretary would respond, "I was unaware of any scheduled calls with my President, Mr. [color="#44aa44"][b]Juagari[/b][/color], but I will query the President to see if he will accept your call."[/size][/size][/font][/color]

[color="#cc4444"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1][color="#44aa44"][b]Juagari[/b][/color] replies, "That would be fine, if he's currently busy I can schedule an appointment with you. I do understand the demands placed on a President's time."[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#cc4444"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1][color="#668866"]deArdanza[/color] 's secretary would quickly put the Chilean Head of State on hold whilst dialing Ignacio de Ardanza and asking him if the Chilean President was allowed to be patched through. Moments later, [color="#44aa44"][b]Juagari[/b][/color] would hear the phone switch lines, "This is rather sudden, President [color="#44aa44"][b]Juagari[/b][/color], but I suppose not ill-timed by any means, what can I do for you?"[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#224422"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="1"][size=1]Juagari[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#000000"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1]"Now that conditions have settled down into a more or less working state of affairs within Chile, I was thinking of taking the time to get to know my neighbors in South America a bit better. Being that your nation represents one of the two other established powers in South America I decided to start with you first."[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#008800"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="1"][size=1]deArdanza[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#000000"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1]"Well, it certainly is very encouraging to hear that things are settling into routine for your nation, Mr. President, and it is good to hear from you."[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#224422"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="1"][size=1]Juagari[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#000000"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1]"Thank you sir, Perhaps we could set up some sort of meeting between ourselves and (dotcom's nation, can't remember the name of it) to discuss economic and trade issues?"[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#008800"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="1"][size=1]deArdanza[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#000000"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1]"I believe that such a meeting between Chile and Para would certainly be one that would mutually benefit all of us, maybe even extending an invitation to our newest neighbors in Peru, would be useful as well."[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#224422"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="1"][size=1]Juagari[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#000000"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1]"Ah yes, my apologies, they slipped my mind, an execellent suggestion. I'd be happy to host such a function, unless you wanted to do so."[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#008800"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="1"][size=1]deArdanza[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#000000"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1]"I wouldn't be averse to such a proposal, I would be happy to attend such a conference."[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#224422"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="1"][size=1]Juagari[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#000000"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1]"Outstanding, I will have my Foreign Minister earn his pay and put it together. I look forward to meeting you in person."[/size][/size][/font][/color]

[color="#008800"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="1"][size=1]deArdanza[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[color="#000000"][font="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"][size="2"][size=1]Said, “I hope to see you soon, advise my Foreign Office of the specifics as soon as you have them.[/size][/size][/font][/color]

ooc- will clean this up when I have a chance... used to be so much easier to cut and paste from mibbit.
Edited January 20, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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The arrangements for the coming conference of South American nations kept the Presidente busy well into the late hours of the night. Hours and hours of work was done to prepare the HAE Military Command center that had been re-purposed as the conference site. The security arrangements alone involved several thousand men and women all playing different roles in different parts of Chile and Santiago. The facilities to house keep the delegations entertained added another layer of complexity to the arrangements. In the end, the most difficult task proved to be the security arrangements.

The Federales, deployed in the Andes mountains had been replaced by a team of Army Special Forces troopers. The MOS of the Specfor Operatives was not quite suited for the role, but none the less the trained and drilled for endless hours to hone their CQB skills in the event of a hostage crisis of some sort. Security from air attacks was delegated to the Chilean Air Force, who in turn put an entire Air Wing on the assignment. A pair of Chilean Navy Attack Submarines prowled the the waters off the coast of Chile to ensure an extra layer of protection. Hundreds of Chilean soldiers were placed into road blocks around vital choke points in Santiago and outside of Santiago with the mission of screening traffic and being prepared to slam and iron boot on civilian movements by shutting down roadways. The meeting site had it's own specific layer of issues that required careful handling.

The old Military Command Center, still haunted with the debris of an bygone era, required an extensive makeover. The painting, cleaning, and refitting took nearly three weeks to complete. It was an unnerving process for some of the officers who served in the service of the Holy American Empire as they repeatedly came across relics of their former nation. The relics were gathered up and carefully cataloged and put in several display cases for viewing in the National Museum not far away. In the end the heavy reinforced concrete bunker with a top site consisting of inconspicuous office building, gleamed from all the attention. However, the work on the rooms for the delegations was far from over.

Three of Santiago's most exclusive hotels had their best rooms on the top three floors were taken over for the duration by the Government of Chile. A helicopter equipped with the latest in countermeasures was placed on the helipad of each building with a crew and security team. Their orders were to stand ready to evacuate the foreign dignitary should some sort of crisis demand it. The two floors below are sealed off, given remote sentry units, and the stairwells given a security detachment. Buildings around the hotels found themselves playing host to armed patrols, rooftop guards, and intensive security checks of the occupants. More than one neighbor to the hotel found themselves ordered out of their own homes and given an all inclusive stay at different location and money to compensate them for their trouble. Outside of Santiago the entire 1[sup]st[/sup] Division of the Chilean Marine Corp milled about trying not to look to bored as they prepared to move into the city if ordered to force a full military backed curfew. The Presidente was at times dismayed at the heavy hand he was using, but felt the increased security was worth it.

No telling what the future would bring for Chile, hence, the efforts expended by the Chilean Military and other services was payment into a fund of skills that would go a great distance in keeping Chile safe from threats. The only way to truly protect Chile was to gain a good working relationship with its neighbors and create the necessary diplomatic touches required in order for calling upon friends in a time of need. With this in mind the Presidente carefully has prepared a selection of items to be discussed with the delegation that ranged from trade to local security issues. Though all of this kept him busy, his mind wandered elsewhere from time to time.

Brief glimpses of the Andes from his window made him wonder how the Federales were faring in hunting down what he suspected were college kids playing a practical joke. A fairly ribald joke in his opinion, perhaps the idea of people dressed up as large dachshunds that were seen engaging in bizarre relations with Oak trees bothered the Presidente. As a liberal, the Presidente had a more robust definition of modern sexuality than his Conservative colleagues. “But dachshunds? Oak trees?” he asked himself in a mutter as he shook his head.

[quote[b]]Operation Watchtower Classified Report[/b]

Operation Watchtower is running at 45 percent capacity. Our human operations have not commenced at this time. However, we have intergrated the intelligence take for the Chilean Air Force OTH-B sites and have begun keeping careful track of foreign civilian and military traffic to build a profile of normal air traffic volumes. Border stations are being set up with balloon mounted radars that give a much better look into low flying traffic, these are being billed as border security devices for drug smuggling and civilian issues and are being coordinated with the Chilean Border Security Department.

The intelligence taken from these radar stations and radio listening stations is being carefully monitored to get a better reading on the local volumes of traffic.
[/quote]

List of standardized equipment currently in use by the Chilean Armed Forces
[url="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_equipment_of_the_Republic_of_Korea_Army"]http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_equipment_of_the_Republic_of_Korea_Army[/url]

List of standardized equipment currently in use by Chilean Air Force
[url="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Republic_of_Korea_Airforce#Main_equipment"]http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Republic_of_Korea_Airforce#Main_equipment[/url]

[/quote]
Edited January 21, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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Octavio and the Marine Sniper quietly settled into their position and got busy putting the camp under observation. Octavio double checked his radio and used his binoculars to get a better view of the Special Forces camp. He found himself looking at what appeared to be a more or less abandoned camp. A thorough scan of the treeline didn't turn up any signs of ambushes, but it was hard to tell given the Special Forces tendency to use camouflage to their advantage when they were laying in wait in a prepared ambush or laying up for the duration. “I don't see any of them.”

“Yeah, you won't either, they went to ground,” the Marine Sniper responded.

“Are they even there?”

“Yes, just laying low. Using thermal blankets to mask their heat sigs, keeping inside the buildings when possible, and probably have listening posts set up outside their perimeter. Operators like that are careful, they don't like getting caught with their pants down.”

“What would you do if you were in charge?” Octavio asked.

“Two ways, overwhelming firepower or starve the out. If you surround them with enough bodies they won't be able to break out, they'll have to come at you, and that's when they have to come out of their hides. You don't ever want to go up against Special Forces when they are expecting you, a lesson your Captain is about to learn the hard way,” the Sniper replied.

“What do you mean?”

“It's like this,” the Sniper said as he placed the muzzle of his injection gun on Octavio's thigh and fired a heavy dose of sedative into the unsuspecting man.

The rest of the events unfolded more or less as expected down in the camp. The team that was in the forest moving towards the farside of the camp's fence was taken into custody by a group of Special Forces operatives and Rangers. The helicopters didn't even bother flying to the camp, they forced Captain De Juanito's assault teams to fast rope into a rive where they were forced to surrender by another group of Special Forces soldiers. The humiliated federales were gathered up and disarmed before being marched to the site of the barbeque where they were reunited with Rapheal and Octavio and once everyone had eaten, gotten slightly bombed, and were in general having a good time the Special Forces Colonel stood to give a short talk.

“Gentlemen, you federales are the worst Special Forces operatives I've ever had the misfortune to encounter. That's not a slight, it takes a special sort of man to do the work of my men, just as it takes a special sort of man to the work you've chosen to do. A Ranger, a Marine Sniper, a Paratrooper, and Special Forces Operative all have the mission to seek out and kill. It's more complicated than that, often we have to wait and watch or train locals. But in the end we do our work to kill. You federales work to save lives, that's complicated and demanding work in my opinion.

“But what we all have is a strong sense of duty to one another. Captain De Juanito might be a horrible Special Forces Operative, but he stayed true to his sense of duty to all of you. He refused to leave one of his men behind. I want you all understand and remember this day, your Captain is new to this work, he is untested, but he has all the right makings of a fine officer. He'll learn and you will all prosper because of it. Tomorrow we will launch a series of exercises I've designed to test your abilities as Special Weapons Unit Members against situation common to your line of work against highly dangerous persons such as Special Forces Operatives. I pray we never face each other in the field under such circumstances, but men are made of flesh and the flesh is weak. Even the flesh of the strongest soldier has been known to give way to temptation and ruin.

“The training is going to force you to fight hard, fight fast, and make rapid decisions to save life. It's what you are good at, it's what you are going to get better at. My Operatives are going to work with you to hone your marksmanship, your medical trauma care skills, and a variety of other things you will be forced through hard work to improve upon. When we are done, this will be the finest Special Weapons Unit in Chile. There are two others being stood up as we speak, but neither of them will have been trained and tested like you men.

“Eat, enjoy your food, try not to let my men wind you up too much, and we'll get to the real work of why we are here this morning. If anything, I offer an apology to you all, this upcoming training we will provide you with should have been ready for you when you arrived. However, things sometimes get a bit murky, we aim to fix this and we aim to grow and prosper together. Our collaboration with you will give my Special Forces troopers a valuable experience in working with and training civilian policemen, something they aren't all that good at. So we will grow together, so enjoy the food, the drink, and the way back to camp is that way,” the Colonel concluded as he pointed vaguely off into the woods.

[b]Santiago[/b]

[quote] Operation Rising Sun
Classified

Effective Immediately all Chilean Military units will be on 24 hour alert until the South American conference has been concluded. Upon conclusion of the conference an extended exercise will be performed in the Northern Chile Military region to assess readiness levels and problem solving skills.

Further, the Chilean Air Defense Command announces the full deployment of short, medium, and long range assests to Santiago and other major civilian population centers. Military bases are already protected with their own local Air Defense units, which will be incorporated into the Air Defense Command in the coming months.[/quote]

I just wanted to write you a letter to let you know my stay up in the Andes is going to be extended by at least another month. We've been training quite hard and learning quite a few useful skills. I've improved my marksmanship skills to the third best pistol shot in federales. My friend Octavio sliced a playing card in half with a single rifle shot, , which has put him at the top of the company rankings. The people training us, sorry can't say who, are quite a colorful bunch to say the least.

We've been training against them in hostage rescue and anti-terror situations for the last few weeks and the improvement has been remarkable. Captain De Juanito has surprised us all by becoming an incredibly adept leader under some trying situations. We run scenarios morning and night and just last week we had a four day long event that left us all frazzled to the bone at the endless hours of exertion that came with waiting for orders to proceed while a hostage negotiator spent endless hours trying to talk the trainer out of committing suicide, though some of the men quipped it might have been better to have helped the guy out the window rather than try to save him. It was a good exercise for us, our goal is to save life when we can, not take it due to expediency.

I can't write much more as I'm due for a briefing. Our trainers are demonstrating basic explosive ordinance removal for us in case we ever come across improvised explosive devises or unexploded munitions while we are at work. It's looking to be some exciting training as our trainers have approved the clearing out of their explosives locker of all older materials that are due for disposal, meaning we'll be allowed to use a rather large pile of plastic explosives to our heart's content. I'm thinking of trying to blast a rock into the shape of a pony for Maria.

Please tell Maria I send my fondest regards, she's a good sister to me, and I hope she's doing well in University. Take care of yourself and I hope papa is well as can be given his problem with his hip, it's a shame that he wasn't able to get to the hospital in time to get it set properly, but given his work as a miner that's not too unexpected.

With Love,
Rapheal[/quote]

[b]Santiago[/b]

“What's the status on the Riddle family?” the Presidente asked.

“Well, they should be over the Pacific by now, that's providing the Marscurian Siberians even allowed them to leave,” Montessorri replied.

“When will we know for sure?”

“When the plane lands, I don't want to contact the pilot in air, it feels inappropriate bothering the flight crew, and I don't really want to draw any more attention to the Riddles than they already have on them at the moment.”

“Good idea, and we know when the plane lands, we'll just have a security detail waiting for them.

“Why bother with this at all Sir?” Montessori asked.

“Simple, the Marscurians were quite patient with us when someone idiot ripped them off for no less than sixty billion rubles, I figure we can help them avoid an ugly situation or two. Naval artillery is fairly indiscriminate in nature, they were running the risk of putting a 130 mm shell through a school's window even if they were probably trying their best not to do so,” the Presidente replied.

“Fair enough, and they were patient. That was a great deal of money.”

“Yes and if they have any problems with the arrangements for the Riddles we can come to a compromise with them. A compromise that ought to smooth their feathers and keep our somewhat nonexistent international reputation intact.”

“Sir?”

“I'm going to offer that we put the Riddles right smack dab in the middle of that big time share project the Marscurians are barmy about. That ought to let them keep their eyes on the Riddles to their heart's content.”

“Oh that's just evil.”

“Mildly so, but I won't have any violence against the Riddles. There is no need for a bunch of kids, old people, and assorted others to have violence leveled against them for the actions of one demented young man. I have no idea what the fool was thinking, don't the reports indicate some sort of air attack on Selectnaros of some sort?” the Presidente asked somewhat incredulously.

“Not sure sir, I will have to check my papers, who knows, it sounds like the situations was somewhat confused to say the least.”

“Situation normal, all @#$# up,” the Presidente grumbled as he turned his attention to other more pressing matters.

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Voldran The Brave drew his sword and gave it a few swift swings to limber up his arms and shoulders before his bout. He eyed the gayly clad crowd and shouted, “I VOLDRAN THE BRAVE SHALL VANQUISH THIS SIMPLE BEAST IN MORTAL COMBAT!” Just as Voldran's opponent stepped onto the stage, Voldran's iphone chimed.

“Damn it Voldran, you are supposed to leave those things turned off,” Jakarti the Vile exclaimed in frustration.

“Look guys, I'm the Chief of Staff to the most powerful man in Chile, I can't just turn my phone off when I'm LARPing,” Montessori responded as he pulled off his gauntlets and checked his messages.

“Come on damn it, can we resume play or what?” Jarkarti the Vile asked with a shout from his side of the list where his faction, The Dark Orcs of Vale, were standing in support of their leader.

“Sorry guys, I'm going to have to kick Manuel's, I mean Jakarti's face in later, emergency and all,” Montessori said as he lumbered back to his car. Members of his faction, The Queen's Own Knights, helped him out of his armor, which sped him along all the sooner towards the Presidente's mansion. As he drove he wondered what the problem was and it wasn't long before he knew the answer.

“Yes sir?” Montessori asked as he answered his phone while trying not to drive his BMW over a rakish looking young man on a motorcycle.

“Where are you?” the Presidente asked.

“In traffic sir.”

“Were you dressed up as an Elf again?”

“No sir,” replied Montessori as his ears turned red in embarrassment.

“Good, look, don't come to the office, go to Santa Maria Marine Base. Find the 1st Marines Commander, a sour old fart named General Pullero, you can't miss him, he's got so much starch in his uniform even his turds probably look creased.”

“Yes sir, General Pullero sir, I've met him already.”

“Good, find him and tell him in person I want him to deploy his 1st Brigade to the Central Chile Staging Area with enough supplies to fight an extended engagement.”

“Why sir?”

“Don't ask, can't say more, this isn't a secure line.”

“Of course sir, will do,” replied Montessori as he turned his iphone off. Whatever it was that was going on was clearly happening due to very recent events. He thought back to the morning intelligence briefing to try and remember if anything stood out that might explain his errand. Nothing seemed to really give him much of a clue of why he was driving half way around Santiago to deliver a vague message to a Marine General who had a reputation for killing the messenger and the person who sent the message.

General Pullero's reputation came about due to the interruption of the General's favorite hobby, golf, by a timid young Marine. The story went that General Pullero was attempting to get some sort of high golf honor, a hole in three or some sort of thing, when the young Marine stumbled into his way, and disrupted the General's shot. The General chased the Marine around the course trying to kill him with his putter for twenty minutes before commandeering a golf cart to assist him with his pursuit, only to find that he was waving his service pistol in the face of an the Chief of Police of the Santiago Police Department.

The story ends with the Chief of Police rendering aid to the Marine General by calling in a criminal investigator who in turn hunted down the person who sent the message. Both the Marine who delivered the message and the person who sent it then apparently disappeared completely off the face of the earth. The fact that the two men vanished completely led Montessori to believe someone made the entire story up, but what was certainly not a rumor or a half-truth was the General's legendary temper and prickly disposition, which Montessori had borne the brunt of on at least two occasions in his duties as the Chief of Staff of the Presidente of Chile.

Montessori sighed and quietly said to himself, “Today Voldran the Brave will not claim the Queen's hand, today is a sad say,” and continued driving in silence.

Chilean Andes

Grabassnia looked over her research once more and rubbed her temples to relieve the stress that was pounding in her brain. The South America conference was the perfect target for her werewolves, but the unreliability they displayed when in their were form was so great it was too much of a risk to send them in. Despite this problem, the rest of the Kaiser Restoration Underground Department was preparing for action in Central Chile to sow unrest to embarrass the Chilean government during the South American conference.

Santiago

Voldran The Brave drew his sword and gave it a few swift swings to limber up his arms and shoulders before his bout. He eyed the gayly clad crowd and shouted, “I VOLDRAN THE BRAVE SHALL VANQUISH THIS SIMPLE BEAST IN MORTAL COMBAT!” Just as Voldran's opponent stepped onto the stage, Voldran's iphone chimed.

“Damn it Voldran, you are supposed to leave those things turned off,” Jakarti the Vile exclaimed in frustration.

“Look guys, I'm the Chief of Staff to the most powerful man in Chile, I can't just turn my phone off when I'm LARPing,” Montessori responded as he pulled off his gauntlets and checked his messages.

“Come on damn it, can we resume play or what?” Jarkarti the Vile asked with a shout from his side of the list where his faction, The Dark Orcs of Vale, were standing in support of their leader.

“Sorry guys, I'm going to have to kick Manuel's, I mean Jakarti's face in later, emergency and all,” Montessori said as he lumbered back to his car. Members of his faction, The Queen's Own Knights, helped him out of his armor, which sped him along all the sooner towards the Presidente's mansion. As he drove he wondered what the problem was and it wasn't long before he knew the answer.

“Yes sir?” Montessori asked as he answered his phone while trying not to drive his BMW over a rakish looking young man on a motorcycle.

“Where are you?” the Presidente asked.

“In traffic sir.”

“Were you dressed up as an Elf again?”

“No sir,” replied Montessori as his ears turned red in embarrassment.

“Good, look, don't come to the office, go to Santa Maria Marine Base. Find the 1st Marines Commander, a sour old fart named General Pullero, you can't miss him, he's got so much starch in his uniform even his turds probably look creased.”

“Yes sir, General Pullero sir, I've met him already.”

“Good, find him and tell him in person I want him to deploy his 1st Brigade to the Central Chile Staging Area with enough supplies to fight an extended engagement.”

“Why sir?”

“Don't ask, can't say more, this isn't a secure line.”

“Of course sir, will do,” replied Montessori as he turned his iphone off. Whatever it was that was going on was clearly happening due to very recent events. He thought back to the morning intelligence briefing to try and remember if anything stood out that might explain his errand. Nothing seemed to really give him much of a clue of why he was driving half way around Santiago to deliver a vague message to a Marine General who had a reputation for killing the messenger and the person who sent the message.

General Pullero's reputation came about due to the interruption of the General's favorite hobby, golf, by a timid young Marine. The story went that General Pullero was attempting to get some sort of high golf honor, a hole in three or some sort of thing, when the young Marine stumbled into his way, and disrupted the General's shot. The General chased the Marine around the course trying to kill him with his putter for twenty minutes before commandeering a golf cart to assist him with his pursuit, only to find that he was waving his service pistol in the face of an the Chief of Police of the Santiago Police Department.

The story ends with the Chief of Police rendering aid to the Marine General by calling in a criminal investigator who in turn hunted down the person who sent the message. Both the Marine who delivered the message and the person who sent it then apparently disappeared completely off the face of the earth. The fact that the two men vanished completely led Montessori to believe someone made the entire story up, but what was certainly not a rumor or a half-truth was the General's legendary temper and prickly disposition, which Montessori had borne the brunt of on at least two occasions in his duties as the Chief of Staff of the Presidente of Chile.

Montessori sighed and quietly said to himself, “Today Voldran the Brave will not claim the Queen's hand, today is a sad say,” and continued driving in silence.

Chilean Andes

Grabassnia looked over her research once more and rubbed her temples to relieve the stress that was pounding in her brain. The South America conference was the perfect target for her werewolves, but the unreliability they displayed when in their were form was so great it was too much of a risk to send them in. Despite this problem, the rest of the Kaiser Restoration Underground Department was preparing for action in Central Chile to sow unrest to embarrass the Chilean government during the South American conference.

Edited February 10, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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Marco Santana was a reporter, or in his own terms, quite generous terms at that, a complete second rate hack. Marco covered the crime beat of Santiago and did so with a certain poetic flair that left his readers calling for more. It took a certain sort of prose to paint a murder-suicide in Shakespearean terms that elevated the tragedy from something more than a PCP fueled nightmare to unrequited love. Of course, Marco's free license with the written word often landed him afoul of his Editor, but since he was a regular player in the Editor's poker game, in which he regularly lost just enough to smooth over any hurt feelings at his latest travesty of the press, his job security was relatively secure.

It didn't hurt that as far as crime beat reporters went, Marco was also the more popular in Santiago. In fact, it was rumored the Presidente himself started each and every morning with a cup of coffee, a slice of grapefruit, and the Santiago Herald Republic pre-opened to the Crime Beat section. With rumors like that floating around the truth that the Presidente actually read the comic section first mattered little to Marco, as he knew it kept him secure for at least a few more articles. At least until he managed to find a way to sneak a reference or two into one of his articles invoking the imagery of Oedipus in reference to a politician, which he has done before and has vowed to do again.

It took a brave sort of journalist, or second rate hack in Marco's own words, to call a politician of any sort a lover of his own mother, even with using a vague reference. He has been repeatedly ticketed by certain members of the Santiago PD, had those tickets removed by favorable traffic court judges, he has found his property taxes on his small house tripled, had that decision thrown out due to a favorable assessor in the tax office, and the number of times he has been rousted out of bed at three in the morning by a brick with a note taped to it he gave up long ago. As much as he admired the timed tested method of a brick through his often shattered from window, Marco felt he had a duty to his readers, a duty to himself, and a love of drama that kept him trying to sneak these little Bard inspired references into his articles.

He wasn't writing when he was first approached. Quite the contrary, he was partaking in an activity he liked to call, pre-lubing. His pre-lubing involved several pints of San Miguel beer prior to stumbling over to a corner booth of his favorite pub to pound out an article just before deadline. His editor well aware of his pre-lubing signed off on his bar receipts without question as a necessary expense for Marco's writing process. Not known to Marco's coworkers, was the same Editor also signed off on the occasional escort for himself, which Marco had procured pictures of one of the acts from the Santiago Police Department Vice Squad. Marco mumbled a bit as he was eight pints into an edgy story involving a pornography ring run out of the Janitor's office of the University of Santiago. “I mean really what were they thinking, young coeds mopping in the nude? Jeus christo... idiots,” he mumbled as he scribbled a few more notes on a napkin.

“Cui Bono,” a nervous little man said.

“Yeah, who benefits is true,” Marco said as he looked the seedy specimen over.

“Ahh, a speaker of Latin, rare find these days.”

“No, more a journalist, I dabbled a bit in Journalism school,” Marco replied as he leaned all the way back in his barstool and nearly toppled over onto the floor.

“Careful there friend, the floor is a friend to no man,” as the seedy man put a hand on Marco's arm to help steady him.

“Aiiee, a few too many I think, I have a damn deadline as well.”

“An article, you just said you are a journalist.”

“Yes, don't tell anyone, a porno ring out of the Janitor's office of the University of Santiago. Young coeds going wild with the mops and brooms.”

“Oh wow, I think I've read a bunch of your crime beat exposes. That one on the perverted politician who got caught in bed with his own mum was hilarious, Oedipus? Not many people cherish the classics anymore,” the seedy man exclaimed with a laugh as he leaned towards Marco at the same time.

“Heh, yeah that was a great one. This porno story doesn't hold a candle to it for sure.”

“Say, you hear about the rumors running around with the Conservatives?”

“No.”

“Off the record?”

“Don't even know your name mate, that's as off the record as it gets.”

Central Chile Staging Area

The National Defense Readiness planning mandated three staging areas per each of the three Chilean Military districts. The First of the First was in the process of clambering off a long Chilean Pacific Freight train. The long Chilean Pacific Railway that ran up and down the entire coast of Chile was proving to be a vital defense asset as the Chilean Marines had embarked that morning and were offloading near midnight. Five thousand five hundred Marines made quite a racket as they unloaded their personal arms and heavy equipment. The snorts and rumbles of the heavy equipment of the Chilean Engineers only added to the racket.

Normally, the Marines wouldn't be deployed with Engineers, but the old, battered HAE base they were going to temporarily occupy was in poor condition and needed a great deal of repair and rehabilitation, hence the Engineers. The Engineers weren't the only one who were filling the late night air with the grumble of engines, the deep clattering noise of helicopter rotors were heard all across the scene as an Army wing of attack and transport helicopters were firing up their engines in their positions on the beds of train cars.

The Marines had not had the time to organize an organic Marine Air Wing, hence the composite Army Air Wing. Whether or not the men who flew and maintained the machines didn't matter much, the Army Air Wing had trained with the Marine Brigade before on two other occasions, they were all quite familiar with each other and it was hoped this would ease a number of institutional issues with signals and supply. Unseen by all the Marines, Army, and Engineers is General Pullero who was watching from his own personal train car.

He glared out over the scene as he felt a bit of distaste in his mouth as he considered the ramifications of his mission. Still, when the Presidente ordered him to do something, who was he to object? “It is not for us to reason why..” grumbled the General as he continued to watch from the dark window of his train car.

Santiago

The National Chilean Special Weapons Unit had completed what amounted to an exhausting month and a half of training. Whatever mission they had been sent to complete to assist the Department of Forestry had long since fallen by the wayside. The Special Forces, the Rangers, the Paratroopers, and a Marine Reconnaissance Unit joined together with the Federales for a magnificent multi-unit task force exercise that lasted an entire week in which all of them were called upon to exercise their specialties and sub-specialties in support of each other.

The conclusion of the exercise brought about a blow out of massive proportions at the Dropzone that recorded a record surge in profits and an equally impressive record of broken furniture and drinking receptacles. In the end the units went their separate ways, not for too long though, as no sooner than they moved to their next assignments they were given orders to take two weeks of leave and then promptly report to an entirely new unit being formed under the direct supervision of the Chilean General Staff special task force.

Rapheal returned to his mother's house and managed a few visits to the psychiatrist that was previous recommended to him. The visits proved productive for Rapheal as he was given a more thorough understanding into Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The meetings helped Rapheal dispel the notion he was a crippled man who wasn't functioning at full capacity, they helped Rapheal come to the conclusion that it was going to take a great deal of time, but in the end he could master his condition. Much to his chagrin the Psychiatrist insisted upon notifying Captain De Juanito, who in turn replied that he wasn't overly surprised but was grateful for the conformation and would cooperate with Rapheal and the Psychiatrist.

This surprised Rapheal immensely as he had feared the worst. Even more so was Captain De Juanito's admission that he too was in therapy for a nasty divorce, an admission that served to reassure Rapheal that matters of the mind were an fascinating world. With the encouragement of the Psychiatrist, Rapheal formed an extensive reading list, enrolled in a distance crisis counseling class that would give him the skills to help his fellow Special Weapons Unit members decompress after deployments of any sorts. Up until this point Rapheal had never really shown much of an interest in academia, but the world of Freud and Jung was proving to be an mystery to him that demanded to be unraveled.

As Rapheal was enjoying his mother's fine cooking and catching up on his reading, Octavio was out partying like the end of the world was coming. He maintained a small flat in Santiago, which he stayed at rather than going home to his parent's house in the heart of rural Chile. He had plans to visit them over the Christmas holidays as he wanted to relax and enjoy the fine ladies of Santiago and drink himself silly. And given he had just spent months in training, his physical condition was thought to be superb by the ladies in general, which was all the more of a boon for Octavio's amorous activities.

Once the two weeks of leave was completed, the two men reunited with their unit and they all departed for Central Chile where they joined with the Marines Recon Unit, the Rangers, and the Special Forces. The new unit was labeled 501st Provisional Battalion and it consisted of one thousand two hundred men plus a four hundred man services and support unit that were a bunch of wild looking reservists activated from the Technical Active Reserves for this specific duty. Each of the specific units had a specific duty that when combined would provide the manpower needed for a very challenging mission.

Central Chile Staging Area

The First of the First had settled in nicely with the help of the Engineers and a great deal of hard work. Their quarters still had a bit of a battered look to them but overall they were serviceable and would do for short term occupancy. More than one toilet erupted with a violent torrent of water and other- debris- on a random basis, but over all the men were being fed, bathed, and had a place to sleep. As one Marine quipped, “It's better than sleeping in a ditch.”

General Pullero objected to the quip and thoroughly believed a Marine not in a ditch somewhere was not really a Marine. To be a true Marine, one had to suffer under the lash of a violent sociopath of a Gunnery Sergeant who was in turn being groused at by a group of harried, but frighten junior officer s, who were in turn being screamed at by a by their senior officers. General Pullero likened it to one large butt kicking contest/circle jerk that normally got most of everything done, or at the very least it had the Marines out of their quarters and hunkered down in a cold wet ditch doing what Marines were supposed to be doing, being miserable and complaining.

The Army Air Wing was hard at work as well. They had orders to begin scouting and observing up to and into the Northern Chile Military District for what would be a large series of military games. The pilots were putting an impressive number of hours in on their machines as they scouted at tree top level the routes to the north. More than one Chilean farmer suddenly found white hairs sprouting due to the terror of having an attack helicopter fly over them at an altitude of twenty feet. With the Air Wing a third combat unit had arrived to support the Marines in the form of a Armored Transportation unit.

The Marines being equipped for an over the beach assault weren't all that well equipped to do a prolonged land march with their paucity of armored transport. To rectify this situation the Marines activated a Reserve unit of Armored Personnel Carriers to fill the role. Much to their surprise the machines and men that responded to the call were what one would normally call antiquated. The men all being in their forties and fifties and the machines probably being about the same age. General Pullero commented, “An M-113 can get a Marine into position just the same as a pair of boots, I guess if we have to the boys can get out and push these death traps if all else fails,” and promptly put in a request for machines more suitable for the role transporting an entire Marine Brigade several hundred miles in a hostile environment.

.

Edited February 10, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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The National Chilean Special Weapons Unit had completed what amounted to an exhausting month and a half of training. Whatever mission they had been sent to complete to assist the Department of Forestry had long since fallen by the wayside. The Special Forces, the Rangers, the Paratroopers, and a Marine Reconnaissance Unit joined together with the Federales for a magnificent multi-unit task force exercise that lasted an entire week in which all of them were called upon to exercise their specialties and sub-specialties in support of each other.

The conclusion of the exercise brought about a blow out of massive proportions at the Dropzone that recorded a record surge in profits and an equally impressive record of broken furniture and drinking receptacles. In the end the units went their separate ways, not for too long though, as no sooner than they moved to their next assignments they were given orders to take two weeks of leave and then promptly report to an entirely new unit being formed under the direct supervision of the Chilean General Staff special task force.

Rapheal returned to his mother's house and managed a few visits to the psychiatrist that was previous recommended to him. The visits proved productive for Rapheal as he was given a more thorough understanding into Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The meetings helped Rapheal dispel the notion he was a crippled man who wasn't functioning at full capacity, they helped Rapheal come to the conclusion that it was going to take a great deal of time, but in the end he could master his condition. Much to his chagrin the Psychiatrist insisted upon notifying Captain De Juanito, who in turn replied that he wasn't overly surprised but was grateful for the conformation and would cooperate with Rapheal and the Psychiatrist.

This surprised Rapheal immensely as he had feared the worst. Even more so was Captain De Juanito's admission that he too was in therapy for a nasty divorce, an admission that served to reassure Rapheal that matters of the mind were an fascinating world. With the encouragement of the Psychiatrist, Rapheal formed an extensive reading list, enrolled in a distance crisis counseling class that would give him the skills to help his fellow Special Weapons Unit members decompress after deployments of any sorts. Up until this point Rapheal had never really shown much of an interest in academia, but the world of Freud and Jung was proving to be an mystery to him that demanded to be unraveled.

As Rapheal was enjoying his mother's fine cooking and catching up on his reading, Octavio was out partying like the end of the world was coming. He maintained a small flat in Santiago, which he stayed at rather than going home to his parent's house in the heart of rural Chile. He had plans to visit them over the Christmas holidays as he wanted to relax and enjoy the fine ladies of Santiago and drink himself silly. And given he had just spent months in training, his physical condition was thought to be superb by the ladies in general, which was all the more of a boon for Octavio's amorous activities.

Once the two weeks of leave was completed, the two men reunited with their unit and they all departed for Central Chile where they joined with the Marines Recon Unit, the Rangers, and the Special Forces. The new unit was labeled 501st Provisional Battalion and it consisted of one thousand two hundred men plus a four hundred man services and support unit that were a bunch of wild looking reservists activated from the Technical Active Reserves for this specific duty. Each of the specific units had a specific duty that when combined would provide the manpower needed for a very challenging mission.

Central Chile Staging Area

The First of the First had settled in nicely with the help of the Engineers and a great deal of hard work. Their quarters still had a bit of a battered look to them but overall they were serviceable and would do for short term occupancy. More than one toilet erupted with a violent torrent of water and other- debris- on a random basis, but over all the men were being fed, bathed, and had a place to sleep. As one Marine quipped, “It's better than sleeping in a ditch.”

General Pullero objected to the quip and thoroughly believed a Marine not in a ditch somewhere was not really a Marine. To be a true Marine, one had to suffer under the lash of a violent sociopath of a Gunnery Sergeant who was in turn being groused at by a group of harried, but frighten junior officer s, who were in turn being screamed at by a by their senior officers. General Pullero likened it to one large butt kicking contest/circle jerk that normally got most of everything done, or at the very least it had the Marines out of their quarters and hunkered down in a cold wet ditch doing what Marines were supposed to be doing, being miserable and complaining.

The Army Air Wing was hard at work as well. They had orders to begin scouting and observing up to and into the Northern Chile Military District for what would be a large series of military games. The pilots were putting an impressive number of hours in on their machines as they scouted at tree top level the routes to the north. More than one Chilean farmer suddenly found white hairs sprouting due to the terror of having an attack helicopter fly over them at an altitude of twenty feet. With the Air Wing a third combat unit had arrived to support the Marines in the form of a Armored Transportation unit.

The Marines being equipped for an over the beach assault weren't all that well equipped to do a prolonged land march with their paucity of armored transport. To rectify this situation the Marines activated a Reserve unit of Armored Personnel Carriers to fill the role. Much to their surprise the machines and men that responded to the call were what one would normally call antiquated. The men all being in their forties and fifties and the machines probably being about the same age. General Pullero commented, “An M-113 can get a Marine into position just the same as a pair of boots, I guess if we have to the boys can get out and push these death traps if all else fails,” and promptly put in a request for machines more suitable for the role transporting an entire Marine Brigade several hundred miles in a hostile environment.

Santiago Herald Republic Offices

Marco Santana gulped down another cup of coffee as he looked over his notes one more time. The tip the seedy looking fellow had given him had quickly turned into the working of what could be the largest scandal to ever have rocked Chile. A scandal so large, Marco wondered if it would topple the government itself. Despite his fears Marco decided he had no other choice but to pursue the story no matter where it led him and who it implicated. “Sir, what I know so far is that there are several Conservative Parlimentarians who are on the take from this shady looking Arica Investment Company.”

A tired looking senior Editor, the paper's attorney, and the owner of the Santiago Herald Republic all shifted in their chairs uncomfortably as they listened to Marco's information. Somehow Marco had managed to find someone at the heart of the conspiracy who forwarded him several internal documents from the Arica Investment Company that clearly illustrated the payments made to the members of Parliament. “Alright, that's enough Marco. Where did you get this?” the Senior Editor asked.

“Well, I've been working the Crime Beat for awhile now, I looked over the public information for the Arica Investment Company. Once I had their public information I started cold calling and posing as a prospective buyer. It wasn't long before I stumbled onto my mole, who has a long history involving himself in fraud and other criminal transgressions. Now clearly my mole didn't want to lose his job, so he let me sit at his desk unsupervised for ten minutes when I visited him last week,” Marco replied.

“How legit are these documents? Have you verified their authenticity?” the attorney asked.

“That's the tough part, and I'm frankly stuck on how to proceed with that. Any member of Parliament worth his salt will get a gag order on us as soon as we approach them,” Marco replied.

Until this point in the meeting the owner, one Juan Salgado, had remained silent. He coughed politely and said, “I'm a member of the Conservative party. Perhaps I can help?”

“Sir?” Marco asked.

“I'm going to request an interview for you, our attorney, myself, and one of these Parliamentarians and ask him directly. If he denies everything and requests a gag order, we'll know with a reasonable degree of certainty. If anything, we can turn the papers over to the federales, give them two weeks to investigate, and then go public,” Mr. Salgado replied.

“That risks another paper grabbing my story sir,” Marco replied.

“I'm personal friends with the Presidente's Chief of Staff, I think we can keep a quiet lid on things and get you your byline, you certainly deserve it, that's first rate investigative work on your part.”

“Thank you sir, and if anything, the Herald will still get credit for bringing this to the Federales even if another paper goes to press before us,” Marco replied as he considered all the angles that were presenting themselves to him.

Santiago

The National Chilean Special Weapons Unit had completed what amounted to an exhausting month and a half of training. Whatever mission they had been sent to complete to assist the Department of Forestry had long since fallen by the wayside. The Special Forces, the Rangers, the Paratroopers, and a Marine Reconnaissance Unit joined together with the Federales for a magnificent multi-unit task force exercise that lasted an entire week in which all of them were called upon to exercise their specialties and sub-specialties in support of each other.

The conclusion of the exercise brought about a blow out of massive proportions at the Dropzone that recorded a record surge in profits and an equally impressive record of broken furniture and drinking receptacles. In the end the units went their separate ways, not for too long though, as no sooner than they moved to their next assignments they were given orders to take two weeks of leave and then promptly report to an entirely new unit being formed under the direct supervision of the Chilean General Staff special task force.

Rapheal returned to his mother's house and managed a few visits to the psychiatrist that was previous recommended to him. The visits proved productive for Rapheal as he was given a more thorough understanding into Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The meetings helped Rapheal dispel the notion he was a crippled man who wasn't functioning at full capacity, they helped Rapheal come to the conclusion that it was going to take a great deal of time, but in the end he could master his condition. Much to his chagrin the Psychiatrist insisted upon notifying Captain De Juanito, who in turn replied that he wasn't overly surprised but was grateful for the conformation and would cooperate with Rapheal and the Psychiatrist.

This surprised Rapheal immensely as he had feared the worst. Even more so was Captain De Juanito's admission that he too was in therapy for a nasty divorce, an admission that served to reassure Rapheal that matters of the mind were an fascinating world. With the encouragement of the Psychiatrist, Rapheal formed an extensive reading list, enrolled in a distance crisis counseling class that would give him the skills to help his fellow Special Weapons Unit members decompress after deployments of any sorts. Up until this point Rapheal had never really shown much of an interest in academia, but the world of Freud and Jung was proving to be an mystery to him that demanded to be unraveled.

As Rapheal was enjoying his mother's fine cooking and catching up on his reading, Octavio was out partying like the end of the world was coming. He maintained a small flat in Santiago, which he stayed at rather than going home to his parent's house in the heart of rural Chile. He had plans to visit them over the Christmas holidays as he wanted to relax and enjoy the fine ladies of Santiago and drink himself silly. And given he had just spent months in training, his physical condition was thought to be superb by the ladies in general, which was all the more of a boon for Octavio's amorous activities.

Once the two weeks of leave was completed, the two men reunited with their unit and they all departed for Central Chile where they joined with the Marines Recon Unit, the Rangers, and the Special Forces. The new unit was labeled 501st Provisional Battalion and it consisted of one thousand two hundred men plus a four hundred man services and support unit that were a bunch of wild looking reservists activated from the Technical Active Reserves for this specific duty. Each of the specific units had a specific duty that when combined would provide the manpower needed for a very challenging mission.

Central Chile Staging Area

The First of the First had settled in nicely with the help of the Engineers and a great deal of hard work. Their quarters still had a bit of a battered look to them but overall they were serviceable and would do for short term occupancy. More than one toilet erupted with a violent torrent of water and other- debris- on a random basis, but over all the men were being fed, bathed, and had a place to sleep. As one Marine quipped, “It's better than sleeping in a ditch.”

General Pullero objected to the quip and thoroughly believed a Marine not in a ditch somewhere was not really a Marine. To be a true Marine, one had to suffer under the lash of a violent sociopath of a Gunnery Sergeant who was in turn being groused at by a group of harried, but frighten junior officer s, who were in turn being screamed at by a by their senior officers. General Pullero likened it to one large butt kicking contest/circle jerk that normally got most of everything done, or at the very least it had the Marines out of their quarters and hunkered down in a cold wet ditch doing what Marines were supposed to be doing, being miserable and complaining.

The Army Air Wing was hard at work as well. They had orders to begin scouting and observing up to and into the Northern Chile Military District for what would be a large series of military games. The pilots were putting an impressive number of hours in on their machines as they scouted at tree top level the routes to the north. More than one Chilean farmer suddenly found white hairs sprouting due to the terror of having an attack helicopter fly over them at an altitude of twenty feet. With the Air Wing a third combat unit had arrived to support the Marines in the form of a Armored Transportation unit.

The Marines being equipped for an over the beach assault weren't all that well equipped to do a prolonged land march with their paucity of armored transport. To rectify this situation the Marines activated a Reserve unit of Armored Personnel Carriers to fill the role. Much to their surprise the machines and men that responded to the call were what one would normally call antiquated. The men all being in their forties and fifties and the machines probably being about the same age. General Pullero commented, “An M-113 can get a Marine into position just the same as a pair of boots, I guess if we have to the boys can get out and push these death traps if all else fails,” and promptly put in a request for machines more suitable for the role transporting an entire Marine Brigade several hundred miles in a hostile environment.

Santiago Herald Republic Offices

Marco Santana gulped down another cup of coffee as he looked over his notes one more time. The tip the seedy looking fellow had given him had quickly turned into the working of what could be the largest scandal to ever have rocked Chile. A scandal so large, Marco wondered if it would topple the government itself. Despite his fears Marco decided he had no other choice but to pursue the story no matter where it led him and who it implicated. “Sir, what I know so far is that there are several Conservative Parlimentarians who are on the take from this shady looking Arica Investment Company.”

A tired looking senior Editor, the paper's attorney, and the owner of the Santiago Herald Republic all shifted in their chairs uncomfortably as they listened to Marco's information. Somehow Marco had managed to find someone at the heart of the conspiracy who forwarded him several internal documents from the Arica Investment Company that clearly illustrated the payments made to the members of Parliament. “Alright, that's enough Marco. Where did you get this?” the Senior Editor asked.

“Well, I've been working the Crime Beat for awhile now, I looked over the public information for the Arica Investment Company. Once I had their public information I started cold calling and posing as a prospective buyer. It wasn't long before I stumbled onto my mole, who has a long history involving himself in fraud and other criminal transgressions. Now clearly my mole didn't want to lose his job, so he let me sit at his desk unsupervised for ten minutes when I visited him last week,” Marco replied.

“How legit are these documents? Have you verified their authenticity?” the attorney asked.

“That's the tough part, and I'm frankly stuck on how to proceed with that. Any member of Parliament worth his salt will get a gag order on us as soon as we approach them,” Marco replied.

Until this point in the meeting the owner, one Juan Salgado, had remained silent. He coughed politely and said, “I'm a member of the Conservative party. Perhaps I can help?”

“Sir?” Marco asked.

“I'm going to request an interview for you, our attorney, myself, and one of these Parliamentarians and ask him directly. If he denies everything and requests a gag order, we'll know with a reasonable degree of certainty. If anything, we can turn the papers over to the federales, give them two weeks to investigate, and then go public,” Mr. Salgado replied.

“That risks another paper grabbing my story sir,” Marco replied.

“I'm personal friends with the Presidente's Chief of Staff, I think we can keep a quiet lid on things and get you your byline, you certainly deserve it, that's first rate investigative work on your part.”

“Thank you sir, and if anything, the Herald will still get credit for bringing this to the Federales even if another paper goes to press before us,” Marco replied as he considered all the angles that were presenting themselves to him.

Santiago

The National Chilean Special Weapons Unit had completed what amounted to an exhausting month and a half of training. Whatever mission they had been sent to complete to assist the Department of Forestry had long since fallen by the wayside. The Special Forces, the Rangers, the Paratroopers, and a Marine Reconnaissance Unit joined together with the Federales for a magnificent multi-unit task force exercise that lasted an entire week in which all of them were called upon to exercise their specialties and sub-specialties in support of each other.

The conclusion of the exercise brought about a blow out of massive proportions at the Dropzone that recorded a record surge in profits and an equally impressive record of broken furniture and drinking receptacles. In the end the units went their separate ways, not for too long though, as no sooner than they moved to their next assignments they were given orders to take two weeks of leave and then promptly report to an entirely new unit being formed under the direct supervision of the Chilean General Staff special task force.

Rapheal returned to his mother's house and managed a few visits to the psychiatrist that was previous recommended to him. The visits proved productive for Rapheal as he was given a more thorough understanding into Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The meetings helped Rapheal dispel the notion he was a crippled man who wasn't functioning at full capacity, they helped Rapheal come to the conclusion that it was going to take a great deal of time, but in the end he could master his condition. Much to his chagrin the Psychiatrist insisted upon notifying Captain De Juanito, who in turn replied that he wasn't overly surprised but was grateful for the conformation and would cooperate with Rapheal and the Psychiatrist.

This surprised Rapheal immensely as he had feared the worst. Even more so was Captain De Juanito's admission that he too was in therapy for a nasty divorce, an admission that served to reassure Rapheal that matters of the mind were an fascinating world. With the encouragement of the Psychiatrist, Rapheal formed an extensive reading list, enrolled in a distance crisis counseling class that would give him the skills to help his fellow Special Weapons Unit members decompress after deployments of any sorts. Up until this point Rapheal had never really shown much of an interest in academia, but the world of Freud and Jung was proving to be an mystery to him that demanded to be unraveled.

As Rapheal was enjoying his mother's fine cooking and catching up on his reading, Octavio was out partying like the end of the world was coming. He maintained a small flat in Santiago, which he stayed at rather than going home to his parent's house in the heart of rural Chile. He had plans to visit them over the Christmas holidays as he wanted to relax and enjoy the fine ladies of Santiago and drink himself silly. And given he had just spent months in training, his physical condition was thought to be superb by the ladies in general, which was all the more of a boon for Octavio's amorous activities.

Once the two weeks of leave was completed, the two men reunited with their unit and they all departed for Central Chile where they joined with the Marines Recon Unit, the Rangers, and the Special Forces. The new unit was labeled 501st Provisional Battalion and it consisted of one thousand two hundred men plus a four hundred man services and support unit that were a bunch of wild looking reservists activated from the Technical Active Reserves for this specific duty. Each of the specific units had a specific duty that when combined would provide the manpower needed for a very challenging mission.

Central Chile Staging Area

The First of the First had settled in nicely with the help of the Engineers and a great deal of hard work. Their quarters still had a bit of a battered look to them but overall they were serviceable and would do for short term occupancy. More than one toilet erupted with a violent torrent of water and other- debris- on a random basis, but over all the men were being fed, bathed, and had a place to sleep. As one Marine quipped, “It's better than sleeping in a ditch.”

General Pullero objected to the quip and thoroughly believed a Marine not in a ditch somewhere was not really a Marine. To be a true Marine, one had to suffer under the lash of a violent sociopath of a Gunnery Sergeant who was in turn being groused at by a group of harried, but frighten junior officer s, who were in turn being screamed at by a by their senior officers. General Pullero likened it to one large butt kicking contest/circle jerk that normally got most of everything done, or at the very least it had the Marines out of their quarters and hunkered down in a cold wet ditch doing what Marines were supposed to be doing, being miserable and complaining.

The Army Air Wing was hard at work as well. They had orders to begin scouting and observing up to and into the Northern Chile Military District for what would be a large series of military games. The pilots were putting an impressive number of hours in on their machines as they scouted at tree top level the routes to the north. More than one Chilean farmer suddenly found white hairs sprouting due to the terror of having an attack helicopter fly over them at an altitude of twenty feet. With the Air Wing a third combat unit had arrived to support the Marines in the form of a Armored Transportation unit.

The Marines being equipped for an over the beach assault weren't all that well equipped to do a prolonged land march with their paucity of armored transport. To rectify this situation the Marines activated a Reserve unit of Armored Personnel Carriers to fill the role. Much to their surprise the machines and men that responded to the call were what one would normally call antiquated. The men all being in their forties and fifties and the machines probably being about the same age. General Pullero commented, “An M-113 can get a Marine into position just the same as a pair of boots, I guess if we have to the boys can get out and push these death traps if all else fails,” and promptly put in a request for machines more suitable for the role transporting an entire Marine Brigade several hundred miles in a hostile environment.

Santiago Herald Republic Offices

Marco Santana gulped down another cup of coffee as he looked over his notes one more time. The tip the seedy looking fellow had given him had quickly turned into the working of what could be the largest scandal to ever have rocked Chile. A scandal so large, Marco wondered if it would topple the government itself. Despite his fears Marco decided he had no other choice but to pursue the story no matter where it led him and who it implicated. “Sir, what I know so far is that there are several Conservative Parlimentarians who are on the take from this shady looking Arica Investment Company.”

A tired looking senior Editor, the paper's attorney, and the owner of the Santiago Herald Republic all shifted in their chairs uncomfortably as they listened to Marco's information. Somehow Marco had managed to find someone at the heart of the conspiracy who forwarded him several internal documents from the Arica Investment Company that clearly illustrated the payments made to the members of Parliament. “Alright, that's enough Marco. Where did you get this?” the Senior Editor asked.

“Well, I've been working the Crime Beat for awhile now, I looked over the public information for the Arica Investment Company. Once I had their public information I started cold calling and posing as a prospective buyer. It wasn't long before I stumbled onto my mole, who has a long history involving himself in fraud and other criminal transgressions. Now clearly my mole didn't want to lose his job, so he let me sit at his desk unsupervised for ten minutes when I visited him last week,” Marco replied.

“How legit are these documents? Have you verified their authenticity?” the attorney asked.

“That's the tough part, and I'm frankly stuck on how to proceed with that. Any member of Parliament worth his salt will get a gag order on us as soon as we approach them,” Marco replied.

Until this point in the meeting the owner, one Juan Salgado, had remained silent. He coughed politely and said, “I'm a member of the Conservative party. Perhaps I can help?”

“Sir?” Marco asked.

“I'm going to request an interview for you, our attorney, myself, and one of these Parliamentarians and ask him directly. If he denies everything and requests a gag order, we'll know with a reasonable degree of certainty. If anything, we can turn the papers over to the federales, give them two weeks to investigate, and then go public,” Mr. Salgado replied.

“That risks another paper grabbing my story sir,” Marco replied.

“I'm personal friends with the Presidente's Chief of Staff, I think we can keep a quiet lid on things and get you your byline, you certainly deserve it, that's first rate investigative work on your part.”

“Thank you sir, and if anything, the Herald will still get credit for bringing this to the Federales even if another paper goes to press before us,” Marco replied as he considered all the angles that were presenting themselves to him.

Santiago

The National Chilean Special Weapons Unit had completed what amounted to an exhausting month and a half of training. Whatever mission they had been sent to complete to assist the Department of Forestry had long since fallen by the wayside. The Special Forces, the Rangers, the Paratroopers, and a Marine Reconnaissance Unit joined together with the Federales for a magnificent multi-unit task force exercise that lasted an entire week in which all of them were called upon to exercise their specialties and sub-specialties in support of each other.

The conclusion of the exercise brought about a blow out of massive proportions at the Dropzone that recorded a record surge in profits and an equally impressive record of broken furniture and drinking receptacles. In the end the units went their separate ways, not for too long though, as no sooner than they moved to their next assignments they were given orders to take two weeks of leave and then promptly report to an entirely new unit being formed under the direct supervision of the Chilean General Staff special task force.

Rapheal returned to his mother's house and managed a few visits to the psychiatrist that was previous recommended to him. The visits proved productive for Rapheal as he was given a more thorough understanding into Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The meetings helped Rapheal dispel the notion he was a crippled man who wasn't functioning at full capacity, they helped Rapheal come to the conclusion that it was going to take a great deal of time, but in the end he could master his condition. Much to his chagrin the Psychiatrist insisted upon notifying Captain De Juanito, who in turn replied that he wasn't overly surprised but was grateful for the conformation and would cooperate with Rapheal and the Psychiatrist.

This surprised Rapheal immensely as he had feared the worst. Even more so was Captain De Juanito's admission that he too was in therapy for a nasty divorce, an admission that served to reassure Rapheal that matters of the mind were an fascinating world. With the encouragement of the Psychiatrist, Rapheal formed an extensive reading list, enrolled in a distance crisis counseling class that would give him the skills to help his fellow Special Weapons Unit members decompress after deployments of any sorts. Up until this point Rapheal had never really shown much of an interest in academia, but the world of Freud and Jung was proving to be an mystery to him that demanded to be unraveled.

As Rapheal was enjoying his mother's fine cooking and catching up on his reading, Octavio was out partying like the end of the world was coming. He maintained a small flat in Santiago, which he stayed at rather than going home to his parent's house in the heart of rural Chile. He had plans to visit them over the Christmas holidays as he wanted to relax and enjoy the fine ladies of Santiago and drink himself silly. And given he had just spent months in training, his physical condition was thought to be superb by the ladies in general, which was all the more of a boon for Octavio's amorous activities.

Once the two weeks of leave was completed, the two men reunited with their unit and they all departed for Central Chile where they joined with the Marines Recon Unit, the Rangers, and the Special Forces. The new unit was labeled 501st Provisional Battalion and it consisted of one thousand two hundred men plus a four hundred man services and support unit that were a bunch of wild looking reservists activated from the Technical Active Reserves for this specific duty. Each of the specific units had a specific duty that when combined would provide the manpower needed for a very challenging mission.

Central Chile Staging Area

The First of the First had settled in nicely with the help of the Engineers and a great deal of hard work. Their quarters still had a bit of a battered look to them but overall they were serviceable and would do for short term occupancy. More than one toilet erupted with a violent torrent of water and other- debris- on a random basis, but over all the men were being fed, bathed, and had a place to sleep. As one Marine quipped, “It's better than sleeping in a ditch.”

General Pullero objected to the quip and thoroughly believed a Marine not in a ditch somewhere was not really a Marine. To be a true Marine, one had to suffer under the lash of a violent sociopath of a Gunnery Sergeant who was in turn being groused at by a group of harried, but frighten junior officer s, who were in turn being screamed at by a by their senior officers. General Pullero likened it to one large butt kicking contest/circle jerk that normally got most of everything done, or at the very least it had the Marines out of their quarters and hunkered down in a cold wet ditch doing what Marines were supposed to be doing, being miserable and complaining.

The Army Air Wing was hard at work as well. They had orders to begin scouting and observing up to and into the Northern Chile Military District for what would be a large series of military games. The pilots were putting an impressive number of hours in on their machines as they scouted at tree top level the routes to the north. More than one Chilean farmer suddenly found white hairs sprouting due to the terror of having an attack helicopter fly over them at an altitude of twenty feet. With the Air Wing a third combat unit had arrived to support the Marines in the form of a Armored Transportation unit.

The Marines being equipped for an over the beach assault weren't all that well equipped to do a prolonged land march with their paucity of armored transport. To rectify this situation the Marines activated a Reserve unit of Armored Personnel Carriers to fill the role. Much to their surprise the machines and men that responded to the call were what one would normally call antiquated. The men all being in their forties and fifties and the machines probably being about the same age. General Pullero commented, “An M-113 can get a Marine into position just the same as a pair of boots, I guess if we have to the boys can get out and push these death traps if all else fails,” and promptly put in a request for machines more suitable for the role transporting an entire Marine Brigade several hundred miles in a hostile environment.

Santiago Herald Republic Offices

Marco Santana gulped down another cup of coffee as he looked over his notes one more time. The tip the seedy looking fellow had given him had quickly turned into the working of what could be the largest scandal to ever have rocked Chile. A scandal so large, Marco wondered if it would topple the government itself. Despite his fears Marco decided he had no other choice but to pursue the story no matter where it led him and who it implicated. “Sir, what I know so far is that there are several Conservative Parlimentarians who are on the take from this shady looking Arica Investment Company.”

A tired looking senior Editor, the paper's attorney, and the owner of the Santiago Herald Republic all shifted in their chairs uncomfortably as they listened to Marco's information. Somehow Marco had managed to find someone at the heart of the conspiracy who forwarded him several internal documents from the Arica Investment Company that clearly illustrated the payments made to the members of Parliament. “Alright, that's enough Marco. Where did you get this?” the Senior Editor asked.

“Well, I've been working the Crime Beat for awhile now, I looked over the public information for the Arica Investment Company. Once I had their public information I started cold calling and posing as a prospective buyer. It wasn't long before I stumbled onto my mole, who has a long history involving himself in fraud and other criminal transgressions. Now clearly my mole didn't want to lose his job, so he let me sit at his desk unsupervised for ten minutes when I visited him last week,” Marco replied.

“How legit are these documents? Have you verified their authenticity?” the attorney asked.

“That's the tough part, and I'm frankly stuck on how to proceed with that. Any member of Parliament worth his salt will get a gag order on us as soon as we approach them,” Marco replied.

Until this point in the meeting the owner, one Juan Salgado, had remained silent. He coughed politely and said, “I'm a member of the Conservative party. Perhaps I can help?”

“Sir?” Marco asked.

“I'm going to request an interview for you, our attorney, myself, and one of these Parliamentarians and ask him directly. If he denies everything and requests a gag order, we'll know with a reasonable degree of certainty. If anything, we can turn the papers over to the federales, give them two weeks to investigate, and then go public,” Mr. Salgado replied.

“That risks another paper grabbing my story sir,” Marco replied.

“I'm personal friends with the Presidente's Chief of Staff, I think we can keep a quiet lid on things and get you your byline, you certainly deserve it, that's first rate investigative work on your part.”

“Thank you sir, and if anything, the Herald will still get credit for bringing this to the Federales even if another paper goes to press before us,” Marco replied as he considered all the angles that were presenting themselves to him.

Santiago

The National Chilean Special Weapons Unit had completed what amounted to an exhausting month and a half of training. Whatever mission they had been sent to complete to assist the Department of Forestry had long since fallen by the wayside. The Special Forces, the Rangers, the Paratroopers, and a Marine Reconnaissance Unit joined together with the Federales for a magnificent multi-unit task force exercise that lasted an entire week in which all of them were called upon to exercise their specialties and sub-specialties in support of each other.

The conclusion of the exercise brought about a blow out of massive proportions at the Dropzone that recorded a record surge in profits and an equally impressive record of broken furniture and drinking receptacles. In the end the units went their separate ways, not for too long though, as no sooner than they moved to their next assignments they were given orders to take two weeks of leave and then promptly report to an entirely new unit being formed under the direct supervision of the Chilean General Staff special task force.

Rapheal returned to his mother's house and managed a few visits to the psychiatrist that was previous recommended to him. The visits proved productive for Rapheal as he was given a more thorough understanding into Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The meetings helped Rapheal dispel the notion he was a crippled man who wasn't functioning at full capacity, they helped Rapheal come to the conclusion that it was going to take a great deal of time, but in the end he could master his condition. Much to his chagrin the Psychiatrist insisted upon notifying Captain De Juanito, who in turn replied that he wasn't overly surprised but was grateful for the conformation and would cooperate with Rapheal and the Psychiatrist.

This surprised Rapheal immensely as he had feared the worst. Even more so was Captain De Juanito's admission that he too was in therapy for a nasty divorce, an admission that served to reassure Rapheal that matters of the mind were an fascinating world. With the encouragement of the Psychiatrist, Rapheal formed an extensive reading list, enrolled in a distance crisis counseling class that would give him the skills to help his fellow Special Weapons Unit members decompress after deployments of any sorts. Up until this point Rapheal had never really shown much of an interest in academia, but the world of Freud and Jung was proving to be an mystery to him that demanded to be unraveled.

As Rapheal was enjoying his mother's fine cooking and catching up on his reading, Octavio was out partying like the end of the world was coming. He maintained a small flat in Santiago, which he stayed at rather than going home to his parent's house in the heart of rural Chile. He had plans to visit them over the Christmas holidays as he wanted to relax and enjoy the fine ladies of Santiago and drink himself silly. And given he had just spent months in training, his physical condition was thought to be superb by the ladies in general, which was all the more of a boon for Octavio's amorous activities.

Once the two weeks of leave was completed, the two men reunited with their unit and they all departed for Central Chile where they joined with the Marines Recon Unit, the Rangers, and the Special Forces. The new unit was labeled 501st Provisional Battalion and it consisted of one thousand two hundred men plus a four hundred man services and support unit that were a bunch of wild looking reservists activated from the Technical Active Reserves for this specific duty. Each of the specific units had a specific duty that when combined would provide the manpower needed for a very challenging mission.

Central Chile Staging Area

The First of the First had settled in nicely with the help of the Engineers and a great deal of hard work. Their quarters still had a bit of a battered look to them but overall they were serviceable and would do for short term occupancy. More than one toilet erupted with a violent torrent of water and other- debris- on a random basis, but over all the men were being fed, bathed, and had a place to sleep. As one Marine quipped, “It's better than sleeping in a ditch.”

General Pullero objected to the quip and thoroughly believed a Marine not in a ditch somewhere was not really a Marine. To be a true Marine, one had to suffer under the lash of a violent sociopath of a Gunnery Sergeant who was in turn being groused at by a group of harried, but frighten junior officer s, who were in turn being screamed at by a by their senior officers. General Pullero likened it to one large butt kicking contest/circle jerk that normally got most of everything done, or at the very least it had the Marines out of their quarters and hunkered down in a cold wet ditch doing what Marines were supposed to be doing, being miserable and complaining.

The Army Air Wing was hard at work as well. They had orders to begin scouting and observing up to and into the Northern Chile Military District for what would be a large series of military games. The pilots were putting an impressive number of hours in on their machines as they scouted at tree top level the routes to the north. More than one Chilean farmer suddenly found white hairs sprouting due to the terror of having an attack helicopter fly over them at an altitude of twenty feet. With the Air Wing a third combat unit had arrived to support the Marines in the form of a Armored Transportation unit.

The Marines being equipped for an over the beach assault weren't all that well equipped to do a prolonged land march with their paucity of armored transport. To rectify this situation the Marines activated a Reserve unit of Armored Personnel Carriers to fill the role. Much to their surprise the machines and men that responded to the call were what one would normally call antiquated. The men all being in their forties and fifties and the machines probably being about the same age. General Pullero commented, “An M-113 can get a Marine into position just the same as a pair of boots, I guess if we have to the boys can get out and push these death traps if all else fails,” and promptly put in a request for machines more suitable for the role transporting an entire Marine Brigade several hundred miles in a hostile environment.

Santiago Herald Republic Offices

Marco Santana gulped down another cup of coffee as he looked over his notes one more time. The tip the seedy looking fellow had given him had quickly turned into the working of what could be the largest scandal to ever have rocked Chile. A scandal so large, Marco wondered if it would topple the government itself. Despite his fears Marco decided he had no other choice but to pursue the story no matter where it led him and who it implicated. “Sir, what I know so far is that there are several Conservative Parlimentarians who are on the take from this shady looking Arica Investment Company.”

A tired looking senior Editor, the paper's attorney, and the owner of the Santiago Herald Republic all shifted in their chairs uncomfortably as they listened to Marco's information. Somehow Marco had managed to find someone at the heart of the conspiracy who forwarded him several internal documents from the Arica Investment Company that clearly illustrated the payments made to the members of Parliament. “Alright, that's enough Marco. Where did you get this?” the Senior Editor asked.

“Well, I've been working the Crime Beat for awhile now, I looked over the public information for the Arica Investment Company. Once I had their public information I started cold calling and posing as a prospective buyer. It wasn't long before I stumbled onto my mole, who has a long history involving himself in fraud and other criminal transgressions. Now clearly my mole didn't want to lose his job, so he let me sit at his desk unsupervised for ten minutes when I visited him last week,” Marco replied.

“How legit are these documents? Have you verified their authenticity?” the attorney asked.

“That's the tough part, and I'm frankly stuck on how to proceed with that. Any member of Parliament worth his salt will get a gag order on us as soon as we approach them,” Marco replied.

Until this point in the meeting the owner, one Juan Salgado, had remained silent. He coughed politely and said, “I'm a member of the Conservative party. Perhaps I can help?”

“Sir?” Marco asked.

“I'm going to request an interview for you, our attorney, myself, and one of these Parliamentarians and ask him directly. If he denies everything and requests a gag order, we'll know with a reasonable degree of certainty. If anything, we can turn the papers over to the federales, give them two weeks to investigate, and then go public,” Mr. Salgado replied.

“That risks another paper grabbing my story sir,” Marco replied.

“I'm personal friends with the Presidente's Chief of Staff, I think we can keep a quiet lid on things and get you your byline, you certainly deserve it, that's first rate investigative work on your part.”
“Thank you sir, and if anything, the Herald will still get credit for bringing this to the Federales even if another paper goes to press before us,” Marco replied as he considered all the angles that were presenting themselves to him.

Santiago

The National Chilean Special Weapons Unit had completed what amounted to an exhausting month and a half of training. Whatever mission they had been sent to complete to assist the Department of Forestry had long since fallen by the wayside. The Special Forces, the Rangers, the Paratroopers, and a Marine Reconnaissance Unit joined together with the Federales for a magnificent multi-unit task force exercise that lasted an entire week in which all of them were called upon to exercise their specialties and sub-specialties in support of each other.

The conclusion of the exercise brought about a blow out of massive proportions at the Dropzone that recorded a record surge in profits and an equally impressive record of broken furniture and drinking receptacles. In the end the units went their separate ways, not for too long though, as no sooner than they moved to their next assignments they were given orders to take two weeks of leave and then promptly report to an entirely new unit being formed under the direct supervision of the Chilean General Staff special task force.

Rapheal returned to his mother's house and managed a few visits to the psychiatrist that was previous recommended to him. The visits proved productive for Rapheal as he was given a more thorough understanding into Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The meetings helped Rapheal dispel the notion he was a crippled man who wasn't functioning at full capacity, they helped Rapheal come to the conclusion that it was going to take a great deal of time, but in the end he could master his condition. Much to his chagrin the Psychiatrist insisted upon notifying Captain De Juanito, who in turn replied that he wasn't overly surprised but was grateful for the conformation and would cooperate with Rapheal and the Psychiatrist.

This surprised Rapheal immensely as he had feared the worst. Even more so was Captain De Juanito's admission that he too was in therapy for a nasty divorce, an admission that served to reassure Rapheal that matters of the mind were an fascinating world. With the encouragement of the Psychiatrist, Rapheal formed an extensive reading list, enrolled in a distance crisis counseling class that would give him the skills to help his fellow Special Weapons Unit members decompress after deployments of any sorts. Up until this point Rapheal had never really shown much of an interest in academia, but the world of Freud and Jung was proving to be an mystery to him that demanded to be unraveled.

As Rapheal was enjoying his mother's fine cooking and catching up on his reading, Octavio was out partying like the end of the world was coming. He maintained a small flat in Santiago, which he stayed at rather than going home to his parent's house in the heart of rural Chile. He had plans to visit them over the Christmas holidays as he wanted to relax and enjoy the fine ladies of Santiago and drink himself silly. And given he had just spent months in training, his physical condition was thought to be superb by the ladies in general, which was all the more of a boon for Octavio's amorous activities.

Once the two weeks of leave was completed, the two men reunited with their unit and they all departed for Central Chile where they joined with the Marines Recon Unit, the Rangers, and the Special Forces. The new unit was labeled 501st Provisional Battalion and it consisted of one thousand two hundred men plus a four hundred man services and support unit that were a bunch of wild looking reservists activated from the Technical Active Reserves for this specific duty. Each of the specific units had a specific duty that when combined would provide the manpower needed for a very challenging mission.

Central Chile Staging Area

The First of the First had settled in nicely with the help of the Engineers and a great deal of hard work. Their quarters still had a bit of a battered look to them but overall they were serviceable and would do for short term occupancy. More than one toilet erupted with a violent torrent of water and other- debris- on a random basis, but over all the men were being fed, bathed, and had a place to sleep. As one Marine quipped, “It's better than sleeping in a ditch.”

General Pullero objected to the quip and thoroughly believed a Marine not in a ditch somewhere was not really a Marine. To be a true Marine, one had to suffer under the lash of a violent sociopath of a Gunnery Sergeant who was in turn being groused at by a group of harried, but frighten junior officer s, who were in turn being screamed at by a by their senior officers. General Pullero likened it to one large butt kicking contest/circle jerk that normally got most of everything done, or at the very least it had the Marines out of their quarters and hunkered down in a cold wet ditch doing what Marines were supposed to be doing, being miserable and complaining.

The Army Air Wing was hard at work as well. They had orders to begin scouting and observing up to and into the Northern Chile Military District for what would be a large series of military games. The pilots were putting an impressive number of hours in on their machines as they scouted at tree top level the routes to the north. More than one Chilean farmer suddenly found white hairs sprouting due to the terror of having an attack helicopter fly over them at an altitude of twenty feet. With the Air Wing a third combat unit had arrived to support the Marines in the form of a Armored Transportation unit.

The Marines being equipped for an over the beach assault weren't all that well equipped to do a prolonged land march with their paucity of armored transport. To rectify this situation the Marines activated a Reserve unit of Armored Personnel Carriers to fill the role. Much to their surprise the machines and men that responded to the call were what one would normally call antiquated. The men all being in their forties and fifties and the machines probably being about the same age. General Pullero commented, “An M-113 can get a Marine into position just the same as a pair of boots, I guess if we have to the boys can get out and push these death traps if all else fails,” and promptly put in a request for machines more suitable for the role transporting an entire Marine Brigade several hundred miles in a hostile environment.

Santiago Herald Republic Offices

Marco Santana gulped down another cup of coffee as he looked over his notes one more time. The tip the seedy looking fellow had given him had quickly turned into the working of what could be the largest scandal to ever have rocked Chile. A scandal so large, Marco wondered if it would topple the government itself. Despite his fears Marco decided he had no other choice but to pursue the story no matter where it led him and who it implicated. “Sir, what I know so far is that there are several Conservative Parlimentarians who are on the take from this shady looking Arica Investment Company.”

A tired looking senior Editor, the paper's attorney, and the owner of the Santiago Herald Republic all shifted in their chairs uncomfortably as they listened to Marco's information. Somehow Marco had managed to find someone at the heart of the conspiracy who forwarded him several internal documents from the Arica Investment Company that clearly illustrated the payments made to the members of Parliament. “Alright, that's enough Marco. Where did you get this?” the Senior Editor asked.

“Well, I've been working the Crime Beat for awhile now, I looked over the public information for the Arica Investment Company. Once I had their public information I started cold calling and posing as a prospective buyer. It wasn't long before I stumbled onto my mole, who has a long history involving himself in fraud and other criminal transgressions. Now clearly my mole didn't want to lose his job, so he let me sit at his desk unsupervised for ten minutes when I visited him last week,” Marco replied.

“How legit are these documents? Have you verified their authenticity?” the attorney asked.

“That's the tough part, and I'm frankly stuck on how to proceed with that. Any member of Parliament worth his salt will get a gag order on us as soon as we approach them,” Marco replied.

Until this point in the meeting the owner, one Juan Salgado, had remained silent. He coughed politely and said, “I'm a member of the Conservative party. Perhaps I can help?”

“Sir?” Marco asked.

“I'm going to request an interview for you, our attorney, myself, and one of these Parliamentarians and ask him directly. If he denies everything and requests a gag order, we'll know with a reasonable degree of certainty. If anything, we can turn the papers over to the federales, give them two weeks to investigate, and then go public,” Mr. Salgado replied.

“That risks another paper grabbing my story sir,” Marco replied.

“I'm personal friends with the Presidente's Chief of Staff, I think we can keep a quiet lid on things and get you your byline, you certainly deserve it, that's first rate investigative work on your part.”

“Thank you sir, and if anything, the Herald will still get credit for bringing this to the Federales even if another paper goes to press before us,” Marco replied as he considered all the angles that were presenting themselves to him.

Edited February 10, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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Montessori was seated by the Presidente's office door with a worried expression on his face. The shouting, fist banging, and death threats had been going on for nearly two hours. As far as Montessori knew, the Presidente was alone, he was not using the phone, and neither was he using one of the many instant messaging features on his computer. 'Could it be some sort of mental break down of some sort?' Montessori asked himself.

Even more disturbing than the sheer volume of profanity that was thundering about the Presidente's office, was the report on Montessori's desk. The sparsely worded report indicated that a member of the 5th Estate had gotten his hands on information only known to a select few in the Chilean government. Specifically, the fact that certain members of Chilean Conservative Party were actively accepting bribes and were also working to undermine the properly elected government of Chile. While this report alarmed Montessori, the news that the Chilean Conservatives were acting to consolidate their support in the military was not in the report.

That secret was held by the Chilean Conservative plotters, the Presidente, General Pullero, General O'Higgins, and Montessori. Had that information leaked it would have forced a series of very unfortunate actions that possibly might have led to all out fighting in the in the North of Chile due to the Conservatives being forced to move to preserve their power as the government would be forced to move to remove ahead of schedule. Given the latest of the deployments in Central Chile, the government was going to move to remove the Conservative's power, but would only move until it was fully ready to do so.

Much like Montessori was only going to enter the Presidente's office when he was ready to do so or forced to do so by Presidential order. “MONTESSORI!” Presidente Juagari bellowed as he ordered Montessori's presence before him.

“Crap,” muttered Montessori as he entered the office hoping not to find a pile of dead hookers or worst.

“Do you know anything about a computer game called Xcom?” asked the Presidente.

“Classic or the new edition?”

“I'm guessing new,” replied the Presidente.

“Yes sir, played it all the way to the finish.”

“Good, explain this whole thing about mutons, damn buggers, nearly impervious to anything. How to I save all the civilians and kill all the aliens in a terror mission with these blasted mutons,” the Presidente grumbled.

“Simple sir, kill everything and don't worry about the civilians.”

“What?”

“Yes sir, kill all the aliens as quickly as you can and ignore the civilians.”

“Damn Montessori, you are one cold fish.”

“Well sir, it does work.”

“I suppose.”

“Sir, might I have a moment of your time?”

“Quickly man, I want to play against my nephew in a tournament round. Little beggar has been getting cocky. Need to slap him up some,” the Presidente offered as he tore his focus off his computer screen and gave it all to Montessori, which had the effect of unsettling Montessori even more due to having his rather irate employer glare at him to hurry so he can return to killing aliens on a computer game. To some this wouldn't seem odd, but they don't work for the President of Chile either.

“Sir, I have a report saying that the Conservative's little plot was discovered by a Herald Republic reporter.”

“Santana?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good, I had a person I know make contact.”

“Sir?”

“Relax Montessori, look, why don't you take the rest of the day off. Take tomorrow off also, because come next week neither of us are going to get any rest for a very long time. I'm pushing things up to ensure they don't get leaked by the wrong person,” the Presidente advised Montessori.

“The longer we wait, the worst it gets keeping this secret. We have almost all the pieces on the board, let's start moving them now. Besides, the reports from the Special Forces Team that are deployed up North are most enlightening. Outside of the three regular army regiments, the Conservatives are mostly isolated.”

“So that is why the Special Forces were sent North, to snoop around a bit.”

“Much, much, much more than that, but snooping is part of it. Their cover mission is to train, organize, and evaluate the regional reserve units. Their real mission is to make sure those units don't get pushed into the middle of anything. At the best those reservists will come in on our side at the worst we'll see a percentage of them defect to the Conservatives, but I suspect most will just quietly go wait at home and hope no one puts a mortar round through their window on accident.”

“Very well sir, I think I will take the day off tomorrow, do enjoy your game,” Montessori replied as he quietly walked out the door shaking his head in befuddled amusement.

Edited February 10, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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A very tired group of Special Forces Operators were having a quiet meeting in the top floor of a two story pub. The ragged collection of faces showed the endless hours of hard work the last month had put the men through. It had been a rewarding month none the less as the information collected showed the readiness levels of the Northern Chile Reservists to be above average, training levels, above average, and equipment quality was even higher.

Colonel Benje Raul, had carefully trod upon a very dangerous path. Unknown to his men was the information regarding the very real possibility of a Conservative Coup against the Presidente. The Colonel was well aware of the information as he played an active role in the planning of the Government's movements to date. His team, all 180 men, were an integral part in the plan to isolate and end the coup via nonviolent means.

The Colonel, was fully aware of the entire picture, was to lead his other 179 men who were not at all aware of the situation, on a month long exercise in working with the Northern Chile Reservists for the sole purpose of updating the Government's information as to the loyalties of those formations. What made the task so difficult was the Colonel could very well reveal the news of a potential coup, he had to investigate covertly and he had to lead his unit at the same time.The Colonel had quickly discovered that while the average Norte Chilieno leaned towards conservative in nature, it was a more provincial style of conservative attitude of smaller government.

It struck the Colonel as ironic that the capitol 'C' Conservatives of the Chilean Conservative party would seek to make an area renown for it's small government inclinations a stronghold when the CCP was interested in creating a stronger more nationalistic government that favored aligning it's policies with Mexico. Not that Colonel Benje Raul, the Presidente, or most Chileans in general disliked Mexico, far from it, they just didn't want to sound like they were big fans of kissing Mexico's metaphorical backside. Kissing anyone's backside wasn't something that overly enamored much of Northern Chile either.

As the Presidente said, “They just want to diddle their sheep, shoot their guns, and pay less taxes. I'm fine with the last two, we gotta do something about the first one though, poor sheep.”

Central Chile Staging Area

General Pullero examined the new Armored Personnel Carriers as their crews of near geriatric reservists put them through their paces. Perhaps he was being a tad uncharitable towards the reservists when he referred to them as the Gout Brigade, however, he did grudgingly admit they knew how to move their vehicles and fight them more than well enough to do the job asked of them. The new APCs weren't the only vehicles assigned to the First of the First Brigade Combat Team.

A company of 155 mm SPLA vehicles and their support vehicles were rumbling around as if they were God's gift to armored combat warfare. The General was most pleased with this addition as it gave him an personal mace of his very own to wield in combat where he saw fit. The two regimental commanders had their own companies of SPLA to call upon, which probably made this unit superfluous, but the one thing the General never complained about was bring too much firepower into a potentially nasty situation. With a distracted glance the General looked to the papers sitting in his lap for a brief second.

He glanced at the highly modified formation chart and he began to see the different units and how their worked together as a highly flexible and integrated team. Two marine regiments, one Army Air Wing, a services and support unit, one artillery company, a reservist armored transport task force, the Federales and their Ranger colleagues, a combat engineering company, and a Military Police battalion to wrap it all up. With all of this the General worried that the lack of a dedicated Tank formation might cause significant issues.

To rectify this final sort coming, the Tankers of the Second of the First, the Third of the First, and Fourth of the First were being consolidated into one adhoc formation. Each regimental combat team had one company assigned to their ranks and those six companies were being pulled from their parent units and sent to Central Chile. General Pullero grumbled a bit about the lack of time the units would have to work together before they were sent into Northern Chile, but he also realizes that most of these units have worked together in the past and the Presidente's concerns regarding the loyalty of Army units was a very valid one.

Just the thought of the Army and the questions of loyalty provoked a sting of sadness in the General. There was once a time where an oath to the government meant something, but having survived the violent break up of the HAE and the pretender nations that followed it, the General realized that the concept of an Oath had been worn thin by the years of shifting loyalties. “We'll just have to change that now won't we,” the General said to himself as he continued to observe the 'Gout Brigade' as they charged back and forth in their APCs.

Edited February 10, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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Macro Santana for the very first time, found himself terrified of dying. In his world there are two types of journalists, the kids who have been threatened with a beating or death and those who haven't. Marco's regularly won the Herald Republic's award for most threats received per quarter. Upsetting someone to the point they voiced the desire to sever his head from his body had become so common place that Marco had long ago stopped notifying the police.

The Herald Republic's website had become the home of all threatening correspondence as it was all scanned and then posted on the website for public amusement and consumption. More than one high profile person had woken up in the past to find the letter they had sent in which they offered to jam their foot in a very private place filling the gossip columns of the city. This more than anything discouraged the serious threats and encouraged the harmless loons who made a game out of who could get their death threats posted. Marco's, and most of the rest of the Herald Republic', attitude that threatening letters were part of the job and not to be taken seriously, was abruptly shaken right to the corp of it's foundations.

The box that sat on Marco's desk, just opened, contained a dead puppy. Marco had gotten more than one fish and once a dead cat in the mail, which made Marco no stranger to the incinerator on the bottom floor were the specimens were disposed of. Normally, he would find such parcels disturbing, but not overly frightening. However, today's package warranted his complete and total shocked and horrified attention as the puppy, with it's throat cut, was the same puppy he had given to his neighbor's daughter for her birthday. A note tied to the puppy's collar stated, somewhat unnecessarily, he should drop his line of inquiry into the Chilean Conservative Party's fund raising efforts.

Northern Chile

General Fergal Detiende was a student of chess. There was nothing he enjoyed more than being able to spend endless hours puzzling over some obscure chess journal as he studied the matches of internationally renown chess-masters. His mind made the logical connections between different pieces of information ten or twelve moves in advance, which was impressive, but nothing in the league of what a ranking master of the game could do. Which General Detiende found frustrating at times, but he understood was part of the price he paid for also loving being in active service.

The money he had been given by the Arica Investment Company was earmarked for a prolonged trip abroad for the sole purposes of studying under the watchful eyes of one of his favorite's, Robert Fischer. While some would claim Mr. Fischer was a raving Nazi loving lunatic, no one was willing to dispute his utter mastery of the game. It was under Mr. Fischer's gaze that General Detiende hoped to learn just enough to vault up into the ranks of the top one thousand of the world's best chess players. Some might have found this to be not overly taxing, but to General Detiende it was a goal worth pursuing as he was very much aware of his limitations in life.

While he was too old to become a serious master of chess, he wasn't too old to properly do the job that Chile asked of him. For all intents and purposes he was doing that job quite well until his greed got the better of him. Even with his greed he had the ulterior motive of being a great admirer of the Chilean Conservative Party's way of thinking. He found their nationalist ethos a cry back to the days of Pinochet.

Back then Chile had been an orderly place to live, a place that had done away with the Socialist government under Allende. Nothing disturbed Detiende and his fellow Conservatives more than the idea of liberalism. The idea that Chile could come under the power of a Socialist or Communist government would have been enough to give the entire Conservative Party a collective massive explosive heart failure. The fear that ruled them, the greed that plagued them, and the thirst for power than motivated them had made the Conservative coup members a very dangerous group of men.

General Detiende was of course in the inner circle as he brought the bulk of the Conservative's military strength. The three regiments under his command were grouped around Arica and Conservative to the core. There were more men, but they were scattered around Chile in small pockets that could be made into a fourth regiment. The Reservists were an unknown force as the Conservatives had limited their recruitment efforts to just the active duty military for the sake of expediency. Detiende expected that as he was able to bring nearly twenty thousand men, of one hundred and fifty active duty soldiers, a similar ration would apply to the Reserves.

Only time would truly be the judge of if he was right or not.

Santiago Herald Republic Offices

Macro Santana for the very first time, found himself terrified of dying. In his world there are two types of journalists, the kids who have been threatened with a beating or death and those who haven't. Marco's regularly won the Herald Republic's award for most threats received per quarter. Upsetting someone to the point they voiced the desire to sever his head from his body had become so common place that Marco had long ago stopped notifying the police.

The Herald Republic's website had become the home of all threatening correspondence as it was all scanned and then posted on the website for public amusement and consumption. More than one high profile person had woken up in the past to find the letter they had sent in which they offered to jam their foot in a very private place filling the gossip columns of the city. This more than anything discouraged the serious threats and encouraged the harmless loons who made a game out of who could get their death threats posted. Marco's, and most of the rest of the Herald Republic', attitude that threatening letters were part of the job and not to be taken seriously, was abruptly shaken right to the corp of it's foundations.

The box that sat on Marco's desk, just opened, contained a dead puppy. Marco had gotten more than one fish and once a dead cat in the mail, which made Marco no stranger to the incinerator on the bottom floor were the specimens were disposed of. Normally, he would find such parcels disturbing, but not overly frightening. However, today's package warranted his complete and total shocked and horrified attention as the puppy, with it's throat cut, was the same puppy he had given to his neighbor's daughter for her birthday. A note tied to the puppy's collar stated, somewhat unnecessarily, he should drop his line of inquiry into the Chilean Conservative Party's fund raising efforts.

Northern Chile

General Fergal Detiende was a student of chess. There was nothing he enjoyed more than being able to spend endless hours puzzling over some obscure chess journal as he studied the matches of internationally renown chess-masters. His mind made the logical connections between different pieces of information ten or twelve moves in advance, which was impressive, but nothing in the league of what a ranking master of the game could do. Which General Detiende found frustrating at times, but he understood was part of the price he paid for also loving being in active service.

The money he had been given by the Arica Investment Company was earmarked for a prolonged trip abroad for the sole purposes of studying under the watchful eyes of one of his favorite's, Robert Fischer. While some would claim Mr. Fischer was a raving Nazi loving lunatic, no one was willing to dispute his utter mastery of the game. It was under Mr. Fischer's gaze that General Detiende hoped to learn just enough to vault up into the ranks of the top one thousand of the world's best chess players. Some might have found this to be not overly taxing, but to General Detiende it was a goal worth pursuing as he was very much aware of his limitations in life.

While he was too old to become a serious master of chess, he wasn't too old to properly do the job that Chile asked of him. For all intents and purposes he was doing that job quite well until his greed got the better of him. Even with his greed he had the ulterior motive of being a great admirer of the Chilean Conservative Party's way of thinking. He found their nationalist ethos a cry back to the days of Pinochet.

Back then Chile had been an orderly place to live, a place that had done away with the Socialist government under Allende. Nothing disturbed Detiende and his fellow Conservatives more than the idea of liberalism. The idea that Chile could come under the power of a Socialist or Communist government would have been enough to give the entire Conservative Party a collective massive explosive heart failure. The fear that ruled them, the greed that plagued them, and the thirst for power than motivated them had made the Conservative coup members a very dangerous group of men.

General Detiende was of course in the inner circle as he brought the bulk of the Conservative's military strength. The three regiments under his command were grouped around Arica and Conservative to the core. There were more men, but they were scattered around Chile in small pockets that could be made into a fourth regiment. The Reservists were an unknown force as the Conservatives had limited their recruitment efforts to just the active duty military for the sake of expediency. Detiende expected that as he was able to bring nearly twenty thousand men, of one hundred and fifty active duty soldiers, a similar ration would apply to the Reserves.

Only time would truly be the judge of if he was right or not.

Edited February 10, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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Presidente Juagari found himself in a quagmire of conflicting reports. On the right side of his desk sat the police reports detailing the rather grim threats to Marco Santana. On the left side of his desk sat the Operation Watchtower reports that listed extensive excerpts of interdicted communications between the various members of the Chilean Conservative Party. The Presidente was somewhat taken back by the sheer volume of intelligence collected by the fledgling organization.

A particular transcript shocked the Presidente more than the rest. It seemed that General Detiende had plans for the creation of numerous re-education centers to convert the liberal thinking citizens of Chile into a more malleable state. What stunned the Presidente so deeply was the knowledge that Detiende's own grandfather had went to his death in one of Pinochet's re-education centers. How the man could even consider throwing his own countrymen into such a thing after one of his own family was killed in one left the Presidente confused and depressed.

Juagari was not a man prone to depression. Normally he was found to be quite affable with the exception of those who stirred up his rather prickly temper. Yet the intelligence reports showed a clear pattern of turning Chile from a decent place for decent people into a bastion of paranoid lunatics. Juagari had more than once asked if some sort of outbreak of a mental disease had transpired that could explain the events that were unfolding around him.

While he was confident of the ability of his government in controlling the Conservatives, he was still very much aware of the great risk of events spinning out of control. General Pullero had put in place numerous contingency plans to protect Santiago and the Government by leaving the bulk of his Marines in place around the city. Other loyal elements of the Army had been brought in as well, thousands of loyal Chilean Army Rangers and Mountain Troops were quietly taking up positions to keep Santiago protected.

The Marines hadn't been able to protect Marco Santana. The Presidente found himself deeply troubled by his involvement in the affair. Of course the Presidente had nothing to do with the killing of the puppy, but he had put into play the motions of drawing Santana into the plot as to accelerate the events that were unfolding in a time frame beneficial to the Government and not so advantageous to the Conservatives.

“Sir?” Montessori asked quietly as he eased himself into the Presidente's office.

“Yes?”

“General Pullero and General O'Higgins both confirm that they are ready to begin proceeding as planned,” Montessori informed the Presidente as he waited for a response. The Presidente could clearly see the fatigue that weighed Montessori down.

“Good, give them the order to go ahead as planned,” The Presidente ordered. He watched Montessori leave the room and once the door was firmly shut he opened a drawer on his magnificent hand crafted oak desk and pulled out a rosary. He quietly wrapped the old worn beads and cross around his hands before he bowed his head and said, “Oh God, don't abandon us now. Chile needs you in the worst way possible.”

Northern Chile

“Sir, a coded message just came in, it's addressed to you.”

“Thank you, carry on,” replied the Colonel as he took the message from his radio operator. After he removed a one time pad from his locked travel case, he sat down and began deciphering the message. It wasn't long before he said, “Christo, no turning back now,” as he stood and walked over to a small group of his officers who were conducting an evaluation of a local armored unit.

“Sir?” one of the men asked as he approached.

“Green Gables,” the Colonel quietly stated.

“Green Gables confirmed?” a few of the men asked back.

“Green Gables is confirmed,” the Colonel replied as the men immediately stopped what they were doing and began to pack up their gear. The befuddled looking armored unit members quietly watched, they weren't quite sure what to make of Special Forces members who were scurrying about.

“Colonel, something we can help you with?” asked one of the locals.

“Well, in fact, yes. You all are federalized until further notice is given. Get your tanks up and moving and here are your orders in writing,” the Colonel replied as he gave the Major in charge of the armored unit a set of hand written orders that confirmed the Colonel's authority, temporarily at least, over the Major's unit.

“Very well sir, I will need to contact my regional command,” the Major noted as he tucked the orders into a pocket.

“You will do so and you will inform them of the following,” the Colonel replied as he gave the Major a second piece of paper and ordered his radio operator to put the transmission through to the proper recipient.

Central Chile

The First of the First, and attached units, were in a frenzy of activity as they moved into their assigned positions in the line of march. Five thousand two hundred Marines plus attached extras made for quite a long column of vehicles. The rumbling of the tanks, APCs, supply transports, ADA vehicles, SPAVs, and a dozen other types of transport was painful to the unprotected ear, which wasn't much of an issue as the Marines and other men had been provided with ear protection prior to assembling.

As far as formations went, it was a rough looking assembly that made General Pullero wince on more than one occasion. The lack of time the units had spent working together and honing their skills in maneuver showed itself. It made him question the use of a Marine unit for a mission that was more suited to an Army armored brigade or something similar. However, it all came back to the same problem of loyalties that the Presidente, Major General O'Higgins, and General Pullero worried about greatly.

With luck, the problems would not prove too difficult to overcome. The final point of departure before the Marines and attached units launched themselves into the heart of Northern Chile was quite distant, which gave everyone involved time to fine tune and prepare their skills well in advance of going on the offense should they be ordered to do so. Which was the greatest and least of General Pullero's concerns, greatest because he was facing fighting fellow Chileans with an unit not ideal to the task and the least because he was facing fighting fellow Chileans with an unit of Marines.

If there were any doubts in General Pullero as to the rightness of his orders, they are gone. If there were any fears in his heart, he banished them. Whatever reservations he had about sending Marines to do a job they weren't ideally suited for, he dismissed as unimportant, because the bare unavoidable fact that was inescapable, his Marines would prevail and the men attempting to coup the rightfully elected government of Chile were going to die if they tried to stop Pullero and his Marines. The decision had been made by Pullero, a silent resolution of sorts, that should he have to personally strangle every single one of the traitorous scum to death with his own hands, he damn well would.

Parliament, Santiago

“I call Parliament to order, please be seated and quiet. I've been notified that the Presidente Agustin De Juagari will be addressing Parliament within the hour. Before he speaks, is their any pressing business to discuss?” asked the Senior most member of Parliament.

“Yes sir, if I might have the floor?” asked Carlos Dela Fina, Member of Parliament of Arica, head of the Chilean Conservative Party.

“You may speak.”

Carlos Del Fina quietly, and somberly, walked the short distance to the speaker's pulpit and carefully laid out his notes in a manner he hoped would be taken as scholarly. Each bit of paper laid down in careful order to present the image that Del Fina's comments had been very carefully researched. Rather than his usual high end tailored suit that cost more than a month's wages to the average Chilean, he wore a somber looking gray jacket with elbow patches, dark blue slacks, well shined pair of shoes, white shirt, and yellow tie. Every item picked to give the appearance of a trusted academician that Del Fina once had been. “I do not come to you with good news today.”

The members of Parliament stirred in their seats as they leaned closer. Del Fina was known for his Conservative leanings, he had a reputation for opposing Presidente De Juagari on more progressive matters, but he wasn't often known for speaking in front of the entire Chilean Parliament. There are also the rumors that Del Fina had somehow got embroiled in the Arica Investment Company scandal to such an extent that the Presidente had ordered an official investigation. The members of Parliament leaned forward as they tried to take in every drop and morsel of what they hoped would be political theater at the finest.

Del Fina started to speak with great care after his pause and he said, “I bring you troubling news of a plot so vile, so disturbing, so profoundly distressing that I can only ask that my fellow members of Parliament please keep their silence while I lay it all out.”

The members of Parliament shuffled in their chairs as they began to whisper back and forth. Perhaps Del Fina was going to go public with his involvement in the Arica Investment Company affair? What of the rumors of the Chilean Conservative Party moving against the Presidente? The eyes of the Parliament bored into Del Fina like hot coals and in turn they focused on Presidente Juaguri as he stepped into the room and took a seat.

“Ah, I see our Presidente has joined us. Thank you for being with us today sir,” Del Fina said to Presidente Juagari.

“Thank you for inviting me today, I'm curious as I'm sure the rest of us are what you have for us. I was told by your secretary it was of the highest importance I be here,” Presidente Juagari replied. The breach of protocol caused another wave of whispers amongst the members of Parliament as the Presidente was supposed to be announced and not even he was normally allowed to speak unless formally recognized.

“Gentleman, and of course honorable Gentlelady,” the Senior Parliamentarian said with a cough as he addressed the assembled men and one women to silence their whispers.

“Thank you sir,” Del Fine sad to the Senior Member of Parliament. “Now, where was I... ah yes.. please keep your seats, please remain silent until I've laid out all the facts of this matter. Six months ago I was approached by a member of the Arica Investment Corporation and offered a bribe,” Del Fina informed the assembled listeners who suddenly had become deathly still as they watched Del Fina commit what they suspected was political suicide.

“Now, I'm an honorable man. I don't take bribes and I love Chile. I love that we came from the ashes of despair, I love that we have a government built on compromise. I'm not terribly fond of the changes going on within Chile, I'll fight them to slow down this progress so that we can consider the ramifications of them. But I'm an honorable man, I don't take bribes, and even more importantly I took an oath to serve my constituents,” Del Fina said as he pressed a button on speaker's pulpit that brought up a slide on the overhead screen.

“If you'll notice here you'll see a list of members that my office believes have been taking bribes from the Arica Investment Corporation,” Del Fina stated as he suddenly felt his head snap back at the booming of a pistol shot. The Parliament's Security Guards descended onto the scene in one great rushing mob as they tackled the Presidente and covered him with their bodies, tackled the shooter who was one of the men with his name on the list, and slammed shut all of the doors to prevent anyone else from leaving.

“Fresh bottle being run up from the kitchen as we speak sir. Can I get something for Mr. Del Fina? An ice pack? Doctor?” Montessori asked as he looked at Del Fina who was looking like he was just hit by a bus. A grazing wound to the side of the head carries a great deal of energy with it, energy that was transferred from the the passing projectile to Del Fina's head.

“No, I'm fine for a bit longer, the doctor at the Parliament House checked on me. He said I probably have a concussion and I'll be going to the hospital for an x-ray shortly. This meeting couldn't wait,” Del Fina responded as he held a glass of water in his left hand that shook so hard water was spilling in little drips all over the place.

“Let me take that sir,” Montessori said sympathetically as he took the glass from Del Fina and set it aside. He took a clean hand towel and helped Del Fina clean the spilled water. Montessori remembered his own nervous reaction after being shot during a routine traffic stop when he was a rookie cop may years ago.

“Thank you Montessori,” Del Fina said as he turned his head slightly and looked at the Presidente who was in the process of shaking his freshly poured whiskey all over the top of his desk. “Getting shot at certainly gets the nerves going doesn't it?”

“That it does,” the Presidente said distractedly as he sorted through the mass of conflicting information that swamped his senses. Del Fina's revelation had shattered the information he had been given that painted Del Fina out as the center of the coup. A much different picture was now emerging that showed it was a subgroup of Conservatives and not the entire Chilean Conservative Party, which was somewhat of a relief to the Presidente.

“So, what next?” Del Fina asked.

“Well, your information matches mine. Your speech was twenty minutes before mine, which would have implicated you as well. Thankfully that didn't happen, though I'm not happy you nearly took a bullet between the eyes.”

“Well, we both love Chile, just in different ways,” Del Fina offered as he extended an unspoken olive branch of peace.

“I know the reforms have been rapid, perhaps in some ways you've been wise to try and slow the pace of things a bit and calling for reflection and greater study on the implications of proposed legislation,” the Presidente offered back.

“This is going to be a time of great stress for Chile, disharmony between your party and what is left of mine will not help at all. We need to work together,” Del Fina suggested without making it a question, more a subtle shifting of intonation at just the right time to make it sound like both a question and a suggestion. Behind him Montessori wondered if he was going to have to get both the men a room and a condom and decided to interject with his own comments.

“Sir? A thought.”

“Yes Montessori,” the Presidente responded as he focused on Montessori along with Del Fina.

Montessori gulped slightly as he realized he had the eyes of two of the most powerful men in Chile focused on him after he just interrupted their conversation. “Well sir, make Del Fina the Minister of National Security, we'll need a new one anyway. Your old one just shot himself in the head to avoid being arrested by a team of federales who were smashing down his door.”

“Never did like him much,” the Presidente commented as he looked at Del Fina and considered the idea.

“It would bring the loyal and honest members of my party right into line,” Del Fina replied.

“Do you think your party can even survive the fall out?”

“That is a concern, I think we'll take a smashing in the next election,” Del Fina said as he rubbed his tortured temples.

“Well, I do mean what I said earlier. I want Chile to change, but change must be well considered. I'm not a patient man, I need a rock who can weather my storms. I need someone who can suffer my temper long enough to make me listen. Besides, I've smashed four phones this week, the accounting department is going hysterical over having to buy new furniture all the time due to me throwing it out the window,” the Presidente said gravely. His temper was not a matter he took lightly, he had grown worried of late that the men and women around him were too intimidated to stand up to him when it needed to be done.

“Sir, it's quite simple, I'll turn my hearing aids off until you listen to reason,” Del Fina said as he grinned smugly.

“Oh you dirty....”

Federal Detention Center

Commandante Cortez examined the crowd of well heeled men siting in his cells with a disgusted look on his face. His reputation for honesty, hard work, and fair play was well established. When he suddenly found himself with a holding pen full of members of parliament accused of corruption and attempting to overthrow the rightfully elected government of Chile, it angered him, immensely. “Commandante, when will I be able to contact my solicitor,” one of the members of parliament asked him.

“When I say so,” Cortez replied.

“We have rights, you'd be foolish to ignore them!”

“Oh you do have rights, the right to shut the hell up,” Cortez shouted as he hit the master switch that cut the lights to the cellblock off as he rolled in a stink bomb. He walked back to his office as he listened to the screaming and complaining that was coming from the cells and he giggled. Those who knew him can speak highly of his virtues but will immediately point out his weakness for practical jokes that at times bordered on sadistic.

“Sir?” one of his officers asked with a smile that danced across his face as he tried his best to not laugh at the clamor coming from the cellblock.

“Yes?” Cortez asked back.

“We got a special request to segregate the following members and put them into minimum security cells. Seems someone took the time to compare Del Fina's list with the Presidente's list and they don't match. The men being put into minimum security will be reviewed first and then either put back into maximum security or released depending on the findings.”

“That seems reasonable, give them a few minutes to enjoy the stench and then apologize for the toilets backing up and the lights failing at the same time,” Cortez ordered.

“Of course sir, the toilets, they've been needing repairs for months now, parliament didn't see fit to increase our budget, damn ironic that the stench of the... toilets... be the cause of their current discomfort,” the Corrections Officer said as he gave up all together with trying to keep his composure as he walked off laughing.

Northern Chile

General Detiende studied a map in silence. The shattering of the Chilean Conservative Party's ranks in Santiago had forced the surviving high level members of the coup to retreat to their one surviving stronghold in Northern Chile. As they scurried north, Detiende had organized his defenses accordingly and ordered his units to block the routes into Arica with roadblocks and tanks. The silence the General exhibited as he studied the map on the wall in front of him was in direct response to the news from the Northern Chile Reservist units that were and weren't coming to join his ranks.

The Northern Chile Military District had twenty five thousand active duty soldiers with another eighty thousand reservists. The organizers of the coup and Detiende had planned on most of them coming over to the ranks of the Conservatives due to the region's traditional conservative inclinations, but had not factored just how different those inclinations were. The Chilean Conservatives wanted something far different than Northern Chile's conservatives, which was mostly the Northern Chileans just wanted to be left alone. Which was what Detiende was seeing as only a mere twenty thousand of them were flocking to his ranks.

The twenty thousand Reservists weren't even what Detiende would call frontline soldiers either, mostly they are rear area formations intended for supporting frontline organizations. Which didn't surprise Detiende too much as most of those units were clustered around Northern Chile's major population centers that also held most of the technically minded types needed to fill the rosters of those units. The two major population centers of Northern Chile were also where most of the Chilean Conservative's support was found in that particular region. The other sixty thousand men were another story completely, which was what the General was finding so fascinating.

“You say those units are not in their barracks or in their staging areas?” asked Detiende.

“Apparently they've pulled out of their depots and are in the field,” Detiende's Intelligence Officer replied.

“That's gotta be rough on them, they aren't being supported, their support units are in our camp,” Detiende commented.

“Well, apparently they aren't active in the field, they are just... well.. for the lack of a better word, camping out.”

“What?”

“Special Forces liaisons are in the field with them and they are ordered to stay off the radio, not get involved, and focus on the borders.”

“It makes sense if you think about it,” replied Detiende as he rubbed his chin thoughfully.

“Sir?”

“None of these Northerners want to smack each other around, but neither does Pullero want to have to face them in the field or leave the borders undefended. So the Special Forces troopers are keeping eyes on them and making sure they secure the borders of Northern Chile. The question I have, how long can those units stay out there without logistical support?” Detiende asked.

“Can't be that long, they have at best five regimental combat teams of mechanized infantry and one regiment of armor, they need fuel, parts, food, and all manner of other things. It is an unsustainable effort keeping them out there that long,” replied his Logistical Officer.

“That's brilliant... Pullero knows this as well, the longer he keeps them out there, the lower on supplies they get. He only has to keep them supported food and water, starve the of fuel and parts. Essentially, trapping them in place until he wants them to move. Brilliant in a demented Marine sort of way, but I'm not too surprised,” Detiende reasoned outloud.

“Why sir?”

“General Pullero, he started in logistics, he was a log puke for nearly ten years before he got his feet wet in a line unit. At heart, Pullero thinks first about beans and then seconds about bullets, it's why he's so damn good at his job, but unfortunately, he's outnumbers and attacking a fortified position, he can't win, unless he's got some other trick up his sleeve.”

Edited February 9, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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Herr Spitzner and his weredaschunds were in place. The rallying cry of the Martincist revolution would go out to the world if Herr Spitzner could just remember the number to the Santiago Herald Republic. “Say, Grabassnia, do you know their number?”

“No Herr Spitzner,” replied as she nervously looked upwards at the attack helicopters that were circling Cuidad De Malvinas. The small rural town suddenly no longer seemed like it was such a secure place as it did when she arrived four hours ago. On the drive in it seemed so solid, so formidable with the houses made of brick, stone, and concrete. That feeling flitted away quite quickly when the first few Chilean Army helicopters clattered their way overhead.

“Damn it, I should have saved it in my phone's memory,” Spitzner muttered.

“Can't you look it up on the internet?” Grabassnia asked.

“Yes true, but it seems you have to be smart to use a smart phone, ho ho.. a joke, yes?” replied Spitzner as he handed Grabassnia the phone and motioned for her to do the complicated task of hunting down the number of the Santiago Herald Republic.

“Yes, one must be smart... here it is,” Grabassnia replied as she dialed the number and then handed the ringing phone back to Spitzner as she walked away to separate two of the weredaschunds who were trying to hump a palm tree with poor results.

“Thank you dearest,” Spitzner replied as he waited for the phone to answer. The muffled voice on the other end notified Spitzner that now was the time for him to launch into his speech. “Yes, write this down carefully.... oh.. you can record this call? Marvellous, fascinating technology... yes.. yes.. 1960s technology you say... oh a funny joke you say, look.. I'm going to give a statement. Yes? Well, it's about the overthrowing of the Juagari government and the establishing of a Martinicist government. What? What do you mean a coup? In Arica? Marines? Open war? Oh dear god,” Spitzner concluded as he turned off the phone.

“Herr Spitzner, is there something wrong?” Grabassnia asked.

“Everything, we are so boned,” Spitzner replied and at the sound of boned every single pair of weredaschund eyes turned and fixed themselves on him. “No you stupid beasts, NOT Bone, screwed I say!”

Grabassnia nodded, clucked a bit, and promptly did what every intelligent revolutionary did when faced with overwhelming odds, stole a car and surrendered to the first Marine she could fine.

General Pullero's Command Post-Mobile

“Weredaschunds?” Pullero asked with a confused look on his face. “Are they dangerous?”

“No Herr Pullero,” replied Grabassnia as she went onto explain that the unruly sex crazed mutts tended to have a unhealthy fixation with fornicating with trees.

“Well, I don't want to kill them if that's all the problem is. Can you convince them to surrender?” asked Pullero.

“Herr Pullero, the weredaschunds will do my bidding, Herr Spitzner, not so much,” Grabassnia explained as she lifted a single lock of hair out of her eyes with a delicate flick of her finger.

“Right, well, I'm going to escort you back to Ciudad De Malvinas myself, you can get the weredaschunds to surrender, I'll have Herr Spitnzer arrested. I warn you though, if they resist, I'll probably just have the entire town flattened with artillery.”

“I understand Herr Pullero, you must do what you must to keep your brave soldiers safe,” she said demurely and just a bit coquettishly.

“Well, for one we are Marines, not damn soldiers, but in principle.. yes.. I'm not going to risk lives on something so insane as weredaschunds and German imbeciles,” Pullero grumbled as he reminded himself to take a cold shower upon conclusion of the meeting to keep his hormones under control. Pullero was happily married, but Grabassnia, despite her shortcomings at creating effective weresoldiers, was a very attractive woman, and the APC the two of them are in, was not the most spacious.

“Please try not to hur Herr Spitzner, he's my cousin, on my father's side. I supported him out of family duty, I never thought he'd be so crazy as to want to create weresoldiers to fight the entire country of Chile, but he's gone completely around the bend I'm afraid,” Grabassnia explained as she smiled sweetly at Pullero.

“I'll try, but I make no promises.”

Arica

“What do you mean they stopped advancing at Cuidad De Malvinas?” asked Detiende.

“Sir, it's on the news, apparently there was an attempt at overthrowing the government of Chile to install a Martencist government,” a tired looking officer replied.

“That's not so bad, Martens was a strong leader, a proud one as well.”

“Sir, with weredaschunds.”

“What?”

“Here are the pictures sir.”

“Oh my god, they are so adorable. Wait... is that one trying to hump a tree?” asked Detiende as he looked closer.

“Yes sir.”

“Well, you gotta do what you gotta do I guess,” replied the General as he laughed, somewhat uncomfortably.

“Well, I guess.. I don't know what to say. That's just so strange. I guess we could put them up in the Andes somewhere. A remote valley possibly?” asked the Presidente who was just staring at the pictures with a very confused look on his face. As the Presidente he had seen some strange things cross his desk, but the pictures of the weredaschunds being led onto the backs of armored transports by Grabassnia and a few Marines really went a bit farther than normal.

“So, if they are weredaschunds, don't they turn into people?” asked Montessori as he interrupted the Presidente's addled contemplations.

“Be kind of an interesting pet to have don't you think sir?” asked Montessori.

“Well, you know, I wouldn't mind have a dog.”

“They are kind of adorable once you look past the tree humping sir.”

“Maybe we can have a tree made of concrete or something like that?”

“I'll look into it sir, what of Herr Spitzner and Grabassnia?”

“Well, Herr Spitzner is going into treatment for paranoid something or another. The man clearly has problems. I'd put him on trial but I doubt any judge would allow the case to proceed giving the man looks completely out of his head. I've contacted a doctor I know of, right here in Santiago, he works with Special Forces troopers on PTSD. He's quite good at what he does, he's found a nice little quite place that uses progressive methods of treatment for Spitzner.”

“Shock treatment perhaps?”

“Oh no, look, the guy is an idiot for sure, but I'm not going to encourage mistreatment. He'll get good quality care, perhaps one day he'll rejoin society a changed man, for the better I hope. It's a nice place just outside of Santiago, it's a nice little farm where he'll get fresh air, good food, and plenty of attention for whatever troubles him.”

“That's fairly decent of you sir.”

“Well, look at the man, he's utterly out of it.”

“Yes sir, very well, and what of Grabassnia?” asked Montessori.

“From what I understand she's committed no real crimes. She even tried to convince Spitzner to not attempt a take over of Cuidad De Malvinas. I'm thinking she did it out of family loyalty and not wanting to leave her mentally troubled cousin alone. I think I'm going to suggest to the Ministry of Justice that no charges be brought against her. Perhaps the government can hire her in some capacity?” asked the Presidene.

“Well, she does seem to have a flair for genetics. An incredibly odd flair, if not somewhat useless flair, but yes.. there does appear to be a gift. I'm thinking the Ministry of Science could maybe hire her on to study these weredacshunds and try to explain how they came about?” asked Montessori back.

“Good, see to it, let's put this unpleasant business behind us. We've a nation to unite.”

Edited February 9, 2013 by Tidy Bowl Man

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Fear. Some men process fear better than others, they are able to bury it deep down and keep moving as they shove aside the crippling effects of gut wrenching terror. The man standing in front of Octavio had taken the later route and pissed his pants and nearly passed out when Octavio appeared out of the dark and night and quietly informed him that one peep out of hims would be fatal. Behind Octavio was Rapheal who had his own mission to complete.

Raphael slipped past Octavio, wrenched the sodden man's arms behind his back, used a quick tie to bind his wrists, and then gagged him as Octavio kept him covered. “Guard is secure,” Rapheal whispered into his radio.

“Hold position, wait for orders to proceed,” Captain De Juanito replied. As Rapheal, Octavio, and the guard took cover behind some bushes, Captain De Juanito radioed the two sniper teams in place in different places around the compound that belonged to one of the traitor ringleaders. “Any movement Eagleeye 1?”

The Marine Sniper who was tagging along with the Federales whispered back, “Nothing.”

“Eagleeye 2, movement?”

“Nothing sir,” replied the Federale sniper.

“Very well, all units proceed as planned,” Captain De Juanito ordered as he pulled on his tactical helmet and grabbed the bar above his head as the APC he was in fired to life and roared up the front driveway of the compound and smashed its way through the gate. While the gate was designed to keep out cars driven by suicide bombers, it folded like a cheap accordion when the twenty tonne APC ripped through it. Once inside the compound the APC smoke dispensers chugged out a salvo of specially modified tear gas rounds that flew every which way in the attempt at causing maximum confusion. Before the ramp of the APC was halfway down a second salvo of flash-bangs chugged out and joined the mayhem.

Captain De Juanito led his team of officers into the main house in search of one Jorge Rilva, member of parliament and enemy of the state. As De Juanito and his men formed up behind the APC as quickly as they could, De Juanito gave the order and the APC raised its ramp and promptly drove directly through the front door and crushed two more guards under its treads. As De Juanito and his officers charged into the house the two sniper teams suddenly kicked to life as they dropped two more guards who were bring up their weapons despite the tear gas and flash-bangs. None of this was missed by Rapheal and Octavio at the rear as they watched and waited.

Before long they both heard the crackle of gunfire from inside the large mansion as De Juanito and the rest fought their way from room to room. Octavio looked over at Rapheal and said, “Never would have thought De Juanito would have shaped up to be half the leader he is today.”

“Well, the Colonel helped a bit,” Rapheal replied as he referred to the Special Forces Colonel who took De Juanito under his wing and shaped the man into a highly capable leader of Special Weapons troopers.

“Where do you think the Colonel is now?” Octavio asked as he kept his eyes on the rear of the compound. It irked him that he was not inside the building, but he knew that the Captain liked to give everyone a chance at taking the less than desirable duties. Most of the Special Weapons Unit members preferred to be inside, but someone had to watch the backdoor.

“Probably up north.”

“Well, hope he's ok.”

“The Colonel? Probably having the time of his life right now.”

“Is that movement?” asked Octavio as he pointed to a shifting of the shadows near the garage doors.

“Believe so,” Rapheal replied as they both watched the garage door grumble its way open. Both of them instinctively brought their weapons up at the ready. Rapheal with his shotgun and Octavio with his .50 Caliber Beowulf semi-automatic rifle that was designed for stopping vehicles with a hefty .50 caliber round designed around the AR-15. Before either of them were completely ready three armed men and a small car charged out of the garage.

Rapheal swung his shotgun from left to right as he opened fire. Clouds of .38 caliber steel balls swept the three men off their feet. The thunder of his shotgun sounded like it was blasting away at full auto as Rapheal worked the weapon with deadly effect. While Octavio was considered one of the best rifle shots of the Federales, Rapheal held the title of being a bit of a magician with a street sweeper. Octavio having a weapon designed to stop cars focused his attention of the car as he cut lose with the Beowulf .50.

The dark of the night was filled with triple tap of three heavy blasts as Octavio pumped three heavy .50 caliber slubs into the engine block of the small car. The desired effect was to bring the car to a stop and Octavio was rewarded in a spectacular manner as the radiator exploded and blew the hood right off the car, which caused the driver to blindly use a tree to bring himself to a stop. No sooner had the car come to a stop, two more men bailed out and they opened fire with pistols. Rapheal lined up and dropped one with a meat grinder of triple aught to the face and upper chest, Octavio blew a plate size hole in the chest of the other with his rifle.

Once the echos of gunfire died away, the compound grew deathly quiet. “Report all units,” De Juanito said as he broke the silence with his firm voice.

“Eagle eye 1, a- ok.”

“Eagle eye 2, fine and dandy.”

“Backgate is ok, five hostiles down. Probably going to need medical support, a few of them look like they might even make it to the hospital,” Rapheal replied.

“House Team is ok, one man wounded, alright, secure this craphole, bring in the investigative team as soon as we do a sweep, standard procedure, get to work,” De Juanito ordered as he turned his attention to the wounded man in his command.

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The life of an embedded reporter was a tiring one. Marco Santana found himself constantly on the move as he and his Herald Republic All Terrain Vehicle struggled to keep up with the advancing Marines as they blasted their way into Northern Chile. The pace of the advance was so rapid Marco was frequently out of touch with the Marine's Press Officer for the official daily updates, which worked for Marco as he found the Marines to be a delightful bunch of subjects who never lacked for colorful metaphors to describe their inner most feelings.

Marco snapped his notebook shut, turned off his e-recorder, and thanked the young Marine for his statement that showed a great exuberance for the use of scatological terms and phrases. “Sir, will we be moving on?” asked the old crusty looking Reservist who was assigned to make sure Marco and his crew didn't stall the advance or run anyone over.

“Yes shortly Jorge,” Marco Santan responded as he and his cameraman started loading their gear into the squat looking Chilean Army Armored Transport. How the Herald Republic managed to lay their hand on an Army Armored Transport was beyond Marco, but he wasn't going to complain as the monster of a truck carried all their equipment with room left over for the three men in it to sleep in the back. There was even a small cooking and showering area set up inside the armored trailer mounted on the rear. Jorge, the Reservist, frequently commented that he never worked in such palatial conditions before and not even his goat farm had such luxurious conditions.

The life of the rural farmer never ceased to amaze Marco as to how much the men and women of rural Chile endured to eke out a precarious existence. One of the selling points that endeared the Juagari administration to Marco was the active effort to improve the lot of the rural citizens of Chile by bringing in schools, hospitals, fresh water, and power. These improvements should not have even been needed as they ought to have been in place long ago, but the Conservative Chilean Party had a policy of libertarian activism that essentially said if the locals wanted power and services, they could pay for it.

It never ceased to astonish Marco how a group of some of the richest men in Chile could also be the most selfish. To be fair, not all were greedy pigs, Del Fina had stunned all of Chile with his candor and honesty in the face of his entire party and parliament. The Presidente's move to elevate Del Fina to the position of National Security Minister had found the popular approval of nearly all of Loyal Chile. While Marco could approve of the unity being shown in the face of outright disloyalty, it none the less troubled him that Chile had been driven into two camps, both calling themselves loyal to Chile.

Marco looked out the window of the Armored Transport as his assistant, Carl, pushed the nose of the vehicle into the Marine convoy. In the distance he can see the flashing of lights that seemed to indicate the Marines were hammering a Detiendist position. The ferocity of Pullero's drive into Northern Chile had sickened Marco, repeatedly, as he found himself looking at torn bodies and blasted homes that had been on the receiving end of the Marine's firepower.

Not that Marco disagreed with Pullero's blunt approach to a very uncomplicated problem. Time and time again had shown the Detiendist occupying abandoned homes and entire villages in hopeless attempts to buy more time for the main rebel body that was reported to be frantically digging in around Arica and gathering strength as other like minded rebels joined their ranks. The civilians well aware of Pullero's line of march, as they had been informed by TV , radio, and flier drops had long since evacuated to the countryside as they waited for the fighting to pass them before returning to their homes to rebuild them.

General Pullero's Command Post-Mobile

“So far it is just the odds and sods of units from the local reserves that threw in with Detiende that are stalling us. We have to stop, clear, and scout each of the rebel held positions,” Brigader General Santiel White reported.

“Expected, keep pushing, we can't give Detiende too much more time but neither do I want to leave hostile units in our rear. The Army has a units moving in behind us but you know.. they are Army, so they'll probably need our help if insurgent activities start up,” Pullero observed.

“Well, the Army isn't doing too bad, to be fair, the man in charge is being quite smart about it all. He's pushed his Combat Engineers up the line of advance to rebuild homes and so forth, which is bring a lot of local good will to our side. He's also leaving small squad sized units at each village, hamlet, and whatnot to act as local eyes, ears, and security for the local government should Detiende's bunch try to strong arm the locals again.”

“What do you mean again?” Pullero asked.

“Well, most of these small towns aren't actively assisting Detiende, they are sitting it out and waiting. Which is forcing Detiende's men who are forming roadblocks to take what they need by force,” White replied.

“Hmmm, well that's only going to make it easier on us. Who is the Army puke in charge of the rear area?” asked Pullero. Given the bulk of the General's attention was focused on the advance it didn't surprise anyone that he wasn't aware of the full details of the rear area operations being conducted by the Army.

“A Ranger by the name of Manual Jorge, real tough old goat.”

“Christ, MJ?”

“You know him sir?”

“Who doesn't? The man is a legend in the Ranger Regiment. He must be pushing seventy years old though,” Pullero said as he raked his memory for details.

“He's getting on in years, but he's still sharp as a tack. Given his experience in the Fall, he was selected for this duty. That and he's one of the more vocal Army Officers who voiced their loyalty before and after the ongoing mess.”

“Well, that's good to know, he'll keep our arse end well protected for sure. What sort of troops is he using?”

“Mixed unit of Rangers, Federales, Paratroopers, and Military Police. He's also, forcibly impressed a Engineer Regiment, though their commander didn't resist all that much.”

“Paratroopers and Rangers being used in rear area operations?” Pullero asked. “I mean they aren't Marines but they are still decent.”

“Sir, those isolated hamlets and villages all along our route are natural ambush sites for convoys. The Rangers are doing the squad level security details, the Paratroopers are acting as company sized fast reaction forces. The Military Police are escorting convoys. The Federales are arresting various wanted persons, and the Engineers are improving the road and rebuilding damaged homes. They might be a bit light on manpower, but that's easily resolved as there is another battalion of Paratroopers in reserve and more Rangers up in the Andes keeping an eye on the Argie border. Also, we've yet to even consider pulling more Marines north,” White advised.

“Yes, well for now push a notice to the Presidente that we are requesting the 2nd of the 1st Regiment to move north. Also, advise that we think it prudent that more Military Police and Paratroopers join Jorge's command. I'd encourage more Rangers but I think it wise that they be kept up in the Andes until they can be replaced. Advise that the Rangers be rotated out with regular Army troops as quickly as possible.”

“Yes sir, will see to it sir.”

“Good, let's finish this mess. It's not good we are killing our own countrymen even if they are disloyal rebel scum.”